


Sing With Me

by qomoi



Category: Le Fantôme de l'Opéra | Phantom of the Opera & Related Fandoms, Phantom of the Opera (2004), Phantom of the Opera - Lloyd Webber
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-03-15
Updated: 2016-11-08
Packaged: 2019-03-07 19:55:02
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 22
Words: 52,927
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13442184
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/qomoi/pseuds/qomoi
Summary: The way the 2004 movie should have been. After hearing a heartfelt love declaration from Raoul, Christine spots the Phantom behind a statue. Excusing the Vicomte, she decides to confront Erik…





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first fanfiction ever! I apologise in advance for possible grammatical mistakes, since my mother tongue is portuguese, not english. Anyway, I really hope you like it :)
> 
> Disclaimer: I do not own anything from POTO. All rights belong to Gaston Leroux, as well as Andrew Lloyd Webber *sighs*

\- Erik's POV-

 _No more talk of darkness,_  
Forget these wide-eyed fears.  
I'm here, nothing can harm you  
My words will warm and calm you…

Erik could not believe his eyes. Christine and the vicomte were on the rooftop of the opera house together. Undoubtedly, she had brought Raoul, fearful that his life might be in danger – what other reason could there be? Christine was afraid of  _him_ , the monster. And now the young vicomte was singing her a love song.

How come she had done something like this?  _Little minx_. After everything he had done for her, how could she?

The Phantom breathed in deeply, desperately trying to keep the boiling emotions from running wild. The pain that struck him was tearing him to pieces. Innumerous sobs were building up on his throat.  _How had things come to this?_  When had his sweet Christine been so frightened of him that she had to run to the arms of that…  _boy_? Erik's heart was dilacerated by pain. Shifting his glance to the floor, he spotted the red rose he had left in the changing room for her. Slowly, he picked it up. Fighting as hard as he possibly could, trying to hold the tears back. Why had this to happen to him? After all these years, during which he had finally managed to make a friend, someone who didn't fear him, everything had gone wrong, and all for a single reason – his face. Had she not succeeded in the outrageous mission of taking his mask off, he would've never acted like that towards her!

\- Christine's POV -

_Let me be your freedom,  
Let daylight dry your tears…_

Christine blinked with surprise. A  _love song_? He was singing a  _love song_  to her? Oh no. No, no, no, no. This was not the least expected, not at such a time. With all that had been happening in the opera house during the last months –  _what was that for_?

All of a sudden, she spotted a moving shadow, right behind the statue of Eros, just by the place where she had left her rose, not intending Raoul to see it. But the rose wasn't there anymore, was it? Maybe the wind had moved it somewhere else? Christine made a funny face. The rose was nowhere to be seen. Someone had definitely picked it up – the shadow. Her heart started to beat faster and faster. Could it be  _him_?

_I'm here, with you, beside you.  
To guard you and to guide you…_

The moment Christine realized the vicomte was expecting her to give him an answer, she managed to mumble something.

"R-Raoul, I don't think this is the right moment to-"

"What do you mean, Little Lotte?. Raoul's blue eyes were wide open with anticipation. She took a deep breath.

"Let us talk some other time. Please Raoul, I just need some time alone."

"Then I'll stay here with you. I could not forgive myself if you were to be attacked by that lunatic!"

Involuntarily, Christine flinched.  _Is it my eyes or the shadow just moved?_

"I need to be alone. Please, would you mind waiting for me downstairs? I won't be long, I promise. After everything that happened tonight, I just need to think it through". She paused and gave him her most reassuring smile. "It'll be just for a few minutes. Please…".

"All right, Little Lotte", Raoul breathed, defeated by the persuasive brunette. Christine watched him leave with surprising relief.

Alone, at last. Sort of. Trying to gather as much courage as she could, Christine walked towards the statue.

"Angel?"

\- Erik's POV -

She had dismissed him. Why? It didn't make any sense that Christine would do such a thing. Shouldn't she be afraid of being alone at such a place? Didn't she know that the Phantom could emerge from shadows at any time and take her to his lair for good?  _Why then_  would she come near? Why leaving the safe arms of her husband-to-be?

She was breathing heavily, as if she were anxious. It was a ridiculous thing to consider, but perhaps she knew he was here. Even if she  _knew_ (which, once again, was the most farfetched thing that could ever cross his mind at that moment), assuming she was certain of what she was doing, it would only be due to what is commonly referred to as "a shot in the dark". For many had tried, but no one had ever succeeded to know here the Opera Ghost hid. He was impossible to track down.

Lost in his thoughts, Erik didn't realize how close Christine was until he heard her calling.

"Angel? Are you there? Pray answer me." If he didn't know better, we would have said that she sounded somewhat expectant. But of course, she was a great actress as well as a sublime singer – he knew that too well for his own good. Being such a master in the art of manipulation, she could bring him to believe just about anything that came out of those pretty lips.

"Why did you kill him?"

The hazel eyes were looking directly at him. She had found him. Even amidst the shadows, she had found him.

\- Christine's POV -

Her intuition had not failed her - the Phantom was right where she had thought him to be.

His gaze pierced right through her soul. Icy blue eyes observed her intently.

A tremulous sound left her throat.

"Why would you kill him?"

Silence. She could see the shadow moving, even if ever so slightly. However, before the Phantom could leave, Christine held on to his cape with all her might.

"Why would you do something like that?"

Still no answer came. The Phantom avoided her gaze uncomfortably.

The despair Christine felt since her voyage to the lair started to take a shape of its own.

"W-why? It doesn't make any sense! It possibly can't be because of the pageboy role, can it?". Her grip was so tight on the Phantom's cape that her knuckles were white. Tears streamed down her face and her sobs were growing incontrollable. Could he even understand what she was saying?

"Please, tell me it wasn't because of the role, of a stupid role! Explain it to me, so that I can believe that you're not as they say. Please…"

\- Erik's POV -

Erik was shaking nervously, puzzled by what was happening right in front of him. Never before had he been put in this kind of situation, never before had he felt so vulnerable. And she looked so innocent, so pure…Snowflakes were falling gently, getting trapped in her magnificent hazel curls, which made her look the more angelic.

Brown eyes were swollen red, with tears forming at the edges. Her nose adopted a light shade of red, while her lips were quivering. The expression on her face made her look more miserable than one could expect from an actress, even if an outstanding one.

It seemed like an eternity until Christine heard the Phantom's voice.

"Leave me be. You have an opera to star, mademoiselle."His voice sounded as cold as his eyes, unusually formal even for him. He looked straight at her. "And a Vicomte to confort, I assume."

Before she could do anything, he had gone. Christine was all alone.


	2. The trap

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Soooo here it is, the second chapter! I hope you like it.
> 
> Please review and tell what you think :)
> 
> Disclaimer: Once again, I do not own anything from POTO (sadly). All rights belong to Gaston Leroux, as well as Andrew Lloyd Webber *sighs*

\- Christine's POV -

Christine sighed. Another performance of  _Il Muto_  was over and she was exhausted. What before felt like an utter blessing now felt like a burden. She was just so, so tired.

Her fame had reached all of Paris and aristocracy from all over Europe came to Opera Populaire only to watch her perform.

Despite all of this, days went by slowly and devoid of the magic they once had. Of course she still loved singing and acting, but things had been quite different since the "accident" involving Joseph Buquet. It seemed that an important part of her life had gone missing. Admirers outside her dressing room, the endless invitations from Raoul and the praise from her friends and colleagues weren't enough to fill up the void Christine felt. Even when considering everything that had happened, Christine couldn't keep herself from feeling that something was wrong and that the phantom wasn't the monster everyone made him to be - after all, he was just a man. For several occasions she had tried to question Mme. Giry about him, although she hadn't been successful on her quest. In fact, the only answer she had obtained so far had been something as "a tormented spirit, but a good-intentioned one", which didn't tell her much.  _Who is he?_ ,  _What does he do?_  and the most tormenting of all questions,  _Why isn't he back?_  would persistently invade her mind and the worst of it all was that she had no idea of what the answers could be.

Christine looked at the mirror and sighed again. Box 5 hadn't been occupied lately. Amongst all the gifts she received every soirée there hadn't been any red rose with a black satin ribbon. Whoever he might be, her Angel didn't seem to ever see her again. Perhaps the root of all problems was the night he had brought her to his lair.  _If only I hadn't been so stupid. If only I hadn't taken his mask off, he wouldn't be mad at me and I wouldn't have felt frightened._  In fact, at the time he seemed almost as scared as she.  _Not frightened. His face isn't that hideous, it just happens that I was caught off-guard._ He even appeared to be as normal as a masked man could be.  _He's not even that ugly. I would even dare to say that he could be a rather handsome man if it wasn't for that…scarred complexion._ And Christine had made it all the worse by speaking of it to none other than Raoul. Startled by the terrifying events of the evening, she'd said many unfair and spiteful things. After all, hadn't he been her faithful friend of so many years? Ever since she had arrived to the opera house, he had been the only one listening to all of her secrets and advising her patiently, always bearing in mind her well-being and career success. He'd always been there, and she was absolutely certain that he didn't wish her any harm, contrarily to what many could insinuate. Possibly Christine was the only person he trusted to show himself. And she had betrayed the trust he had bestowed upon her.  _Silly, foolish Christine!_

However, there was a way she could try making things right – Christine needed to find him and apologise, face to face. For the last weeks, she'd handed out a few letters to Mme. Giry addressed to the phantom, which she was sure had been delivered. As expected, no answer came, which left her with a final alternative, to go to his lair. She remembered every path they had taken. There was just a slight problem, crossing the lake, but she felt confident that there was more than one passage available. So really, it was just a matter of trying. After all, how many tunnels and hideaways could an opera house have?

At this time, everyone should be sleeping and therefore she could go missing without anyone knowing. She wore one of the simplest and warmest dresses she owned, grabbed a candlestick and opened the mirror. How incredible was it that no one had ever noticed it was a secret passage to an underground world. Christine wondered if the phantom had ever caught side of the prima donna getting dressed. Her face turned crimson red with annoyance. It seemed extremely inappropriate that someone as chivalrous would ever do something like that.

She walked along the tunnel and lighted some of the candles on the stone walls. There were mice everywhere. Then, she went down the spiral staircase, especially careful not to slip. Luckily, years of ballet training had given her enough agility so that wouldn't happen. When Christine reached the bottom of the stairs, she cautiously walked in the direction of the lake where a boat had once been. She carefully looked around, until she spotted a small door. Then, she lowered herself and saw that there was a narrow and displeasingly wet room. The room had a small window and another door. She peeped through the window, from which she could see the small chapel where she regularly went to pray for her father. Christine proceeded to the door and breathed in deeply. There was a whole unexplored world underneath the opera house. What would she stumble upon next? She kept walking through a small ramp and reached a two-way path. And now, where should she go?  _Right. Definitely the right one._ Only this time the corridor was even tighter and darker than the previous one. It was almost impossible to see anything at all, but Christine kept on going with conviction.

All of a sudden, she felt something moving, until a trapdoor opened underneath her feet.  _A trap_ , was the last thing crossing her mind before she was swallowed by water.

\- Erik's POV -

The worst weeks of Erik's life were going by slowly. His former pupil Christine was now the most recent musical sensation of Paris. Every day, queues of fans and admirers formed in front of Opera Populaire only if to catch a small glimpse of the first soprano. Doubtlessly, she was beautiful. The Phantom sighed. He had sworn himself not to see her act until he completed his current project, an opera called Don Juan Triumphant. Should everything go as planned, we would take revenge on the bewitching brunette and her lover. She would regret having deceived him.

In spite of it all, even with all the rage he felt, it was impossible not to miss the routine that had come to be established over the years. Not to see her and to scarcely hear her voice was a form a torture he had failed to anticipate and it affected him more and he had initially supposed. He looked up and fixed one of his desks. On it, three letters Christine had written him and that had been delivered by Antoinette.  _It's better for her not to contact with me._ He was certain she had only done it so that she could humiliate him in front of everyone. He didn't trust her, not any longer. And how could he, after all she'd said to the vicomte? For sure he had convinced her to play along on a scheme to catch him. Anyway, he would not risk it.

However, every time he read any of those letters (which happened more often than what he was willing to admit) he felt an immense desire to lay his eyes upon her. Sometimes he would attend rehearsals of  _Il Muto_  or he would watch her sleep in her dressing room. He did it always after the main performances, which was when she was the more tired. This way, he could ensure she wouldn't sense his presence. What surprised him on those times was that she wouldn't just sleep; she would cry herself to sleep. And the most confusing of it all was that he had no idea why. Shouldn't she be happier than she'd ever been? She was the prima donna and the world was at her feet, including her dearest vicomte, who was persistently inviting her out. Then, why would she cry? It didn't make any sense whatsoever, and as much as he wanted to help her, he'd poured his heart out for her only to end up getting hurt. Therefore, there was of no use interfering. Whatever it was that was going on, she'd surely have other friends to assist her.

It was quite late already and Erik was trying to develop the second act of his opera, although he was not achieving great results. Today had been rehearsals day, which meant the opera was calmer than usual. Perhaps it was a nice idea to wander around and forget about Don Juan for a while.

Passing through the stairs that led to the stalls, Erik realized that something wasn't quite right. One of his traps had been triggered. The lake trapdoor. What or whoever had fallen for it wouldn't make it if he didn't take action quickly and would drown to death, for there was no escape.

The Phantom ran as quickly as he could until he reached the handle that allowed him to stop the water flow. Then he dived into the lake. Eventhough it was very dark, Erik managed to spot a feminine silhouette sinking.

_Christine. Oh Christine, why?_


	3. Awakening

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First of all, I'm so sorry that I haven't uploaded this chapter before! College got in the way, amongst with other problems and I must say it's been a battle of wills to write this. Also, it really wasn't an easy chapter to write, mostly because I wasn't sure of how to end it :\ However, the draft of the next two chapters is almost complete, so luckily I'll able to post those soon. Hope you like this one!
> 
> I'll really appreciate some lovely reviews :D
> 
> Disclaimer: I do not own anything related to POTO. All credit goes to Gaston Leroux and genius Andrew Lloyd Webber.

\- Erik's POV –

Christine was safe. Thank God, he had managed to save her just in time to avoid the worst. He flinched. She could have died. Killed by his traps. Fortunately, he'd been fast enough and as soon as he took her out of the water, she immediately started to cough the water trapped in her lungs. Erik had tried to wake her, but she remained unconscious. For the time being, she was breathing and he considered himself lucky for that.

Erik carried the petite opera singer in his arms until he reached his lair. For all he knew, she'd come alone. Although he wondered for what silly purpose she'd done that, there were more urgent details that he had to attend to. Firstly, he needed to assure her comfort and keep her dry and warm. Rapidly, he removed her wool dress (which was soaked wet - no wonder, it was heavy enough to have helped her sink faster) and involved her in a cozy dry blanket before he could even dare to look at her disrobed form. Gently, he laid her on his swan bed and lighted the fireplace. Then, he changed into dry clothing and remained by her side, thinking.

Should he call Antoinette? It was the most sensible thing to do, since Christine was in no condition of getting up, let alone perform! Moreover, in a few hours rehearsals were due to start and a missing prima donna would certainly not go unnoticed. Still, problems would arise that would go far beyond her disappearance - where she had been, who she had been with… Indeed, he could not keep her down there. It was the best solution, both for her career and his sanity.

In spite of it all, he wanted her to stay. There were a couple of hours left before dawn and there was no immediate reason to move her out. Comfort was assured and he had sufficient medical knowledge to assure her well-being, as far as he was concerned. Also, there were other reasons for him to wish for her staying. He needed to know exactly why she had adventured into the opera house underground world. Christine knew perfectly that it was his domain – then, why? Why had she come down all on her own, why had she bothered to go there? It could perfectly be a strategy to hunt him down, a desperate conspiracy drafted by that silly boy. But in that case she wouldn't be coming alone. And if she disappeared, then no doubt the Vicomte would have taken measures already.

So it wasn't a plan. A very ingenious one, that was. Why? Why on Earth would she put herself at risk? Nothing made sense to Erik. It seemed almost impossible that she was there, sleeping in his bed. And he needed answers, desperately.

He decided to wait before calling Antoinette in. In the meantime, he decided to pick a book from his library and watch closely over Christine, in case she woke up.

\- Christine's POV –

Her head hurt and she felt exhausted. Christine remembered being in a small passageway… and falling into water. After that she did not recall anything, only the feeling of slowly drifting into deep sleep and she couldn't bring herself to open her eyes. For a long time, the sequence of events kept playing over and over again in her mind.

Finally, she felt rested. She felt so comfortable, so warm, and so… safe. She awakened peacefully and found herself in a slightly familiar room. She sat on the bed and looked around. Christine quickly realized exactly where she was. She noticed a big fireplace in front of the bed. Right by her side, the phantom was sound asleep, a book open on his lap.

What had happened? She remembered falling into water, feeling trapped… had he saved her? Christine couldn't help but stare at him for a while. He looked so peaceful, snoring just a little, tension completely off his body. And this man had saved her life, for which she felt so very grateful, along with the chance to see him and perhaps get him to speak to her again. But was it right to get her hopes up too high? Maybe not. He was mad at her, with reason. Still, Christine was determined to get that wall down between them.

She didn't want to startle him, so she decided to call him in a hushed tone.

"Angel…? Angel, wake up", she whispered.

The masked man opened his eyes and straightened himself instantly. In less than a second he was by her side.

"Don't move or attempt to get up. I can't tell if you are injured, as you may have a concussion from the fall" he said gravely. "What is the last thing you remember?"

Christine blushed deeply. "Erm… I was walking through a corridor."

"Yes?" his look was inquisitive, which made her the more nervous. She gulped.

"A door opened beneath me. A trap door, that is. I fell into water and I couldn't swim my way up. I-I…" Christine was shaking nervously. It had been a horrible experience. "I couldn't breathe very well because of the corset. It felt like falling asleep, really. After that, I don't think I recall anything else." Her look was fixed upon her hands; she couldn't bear looking straight at him.

The Phantom kept his gaze upon her intently. He nodded and turned around. He was about to leave the room, but Christine managed to be swift.

"Wait!"

His brows arched with surprise, eyes wide open with shock. Rapidly the expression on his face turned serious and quizzical.

"What is the matter, mademoiselle?"

And that was the moment Christine snapped.

"Are you seriously going to leave me here alone?"

The man ignored her (yet again) and resumed his exit.

Christine got up quickly and yelled "I'm coming after you! I won't take this any longer!" Before she could even make it to the fireplace, she felt dizzy and tripped. Suddenly, his hands were grabbing her small arms. His roaring voice echoed all over the room. "You will stay in your bed, Christine! And your childish attitudes will not be tolerated. They almost cost your life." He lifted her up as if she were as light as a feather and gently put her on the bed. Coldly, he continued "Shall you reproduce your pathetic behavior, I will tie you down to this bed. You're not to be up, given your circumstances. Have I made myself clear?"

After a short but an awkward period of silence, she nodded.

"Good." He left quickly, the door closed behind him. She was alone in the room. Christine was still processing everything that had happened. He had saved her, but still wouldn't talk to her. Really, he had barely looked at her! And it all made her feel even guiltier. She'd hurt him, she knew that. And how terrible she felt about it. However, she was determined to win his trust back. She'd already come this far, why not give her luck one more push?

By the time he came back (she supposed he ought to come back at some point) she would confront him. She would apologize properly and ask him how on earth he knew she was in danger. That thought comforted her, as strange as it was. Could it possibly mean that he still cared about her, that she was still under his protection? Without fully understanding why, she smiled at this thought. Maybe there was still hope after all.

\- Erik's POV -

The kettle had been whistling for a long time before he decided to bring Christine some tea and toast. Of course chicken soup would have been much more suitable for someone who had nearly died a few hours before, but he did not have nor the ingredients or the necessary equipment - there no need for it, since he never cooked.

Carefully putting the tea asset on a tray, he realized how painfully nervous he was. Christine had stated in the most straightforward way possible her intentions of speaking to him about her rescue. And most likely about her unreplied missives as well. Of course he didn't have to, in any way, to provide her with answers. He didn't have any obligation towards her and was fully aware of it. The girl should be grateful enough that she'd survived her little irresponsible adventure. That was all there was to it.

Finally, he gathered courage to take her the food - the tea would get cold.

\- Christine's POV -

Ever so slowly, the door opened and the phantom calmly entered the room. Christine was sitting on the bed, observing intently. He put the tray on the nightstand.

"You should eat. I apologize that I can't provide you a more complete meal. I'll be out in case you should need me."

Suddenly, Christine cried:

"Wait! I told you I needed to talk to you! I need answers!" Her voice trembled nervously and she looked rather pale. "Don't pretend you're not listening!" She threw him a pillow, missing him by inches. The phantom turned around and their eyes locked. He said icily:

"I must call for Mdme. Giry. You are in no shape for a rehearsal and she ought to take care of you."

"STOP IT NOW!"

When had she begun crying? Her face was soaking wet and her rebel curls were glued to her face. Everything was blurred out by her copious tears and she couldn't bring herself to stop sobbing. Still, she felt his dark presence. A dark undefinable figure was right in front of her. For a while, she even felt thankful that she couldn't see him clearly. At least she wouldn't have to bear the disdainful expression he was certainly showing. Everything felt like an endless nightmare - when, at last, she found an opportunity to talk to him and set the record straight she also found a way to blow it all. What is worse than sabotaging yourself? Nothing feels bitterer, for sure. Christine gulped as all thoughts raced through her mind.

"I'm so sorry. You don't have to forgive me, I mean…" She lifted her head, cleaned the tears with the back of her hand and looked him in the eyes.

"I know I said terrible things, evil things. The worst of it all is that I don't even believe them myself. They're untrue. I lied about you, defamed you. I'm so sorry, really I am. I don't know what else to say. I just don't want to end it all. Above all else, I consider you to be my friend and I shall never forget how kind you've been to me for all these years. In the end, I proved that I don't deserve you or your friendship, for I've betrayed you. You have every right not to talk to me ever again if you wish; but I thought I'd just say it, so you know how much I regret it."

\- Erik's POV -

Erik stared blankly at her. He would not allow himself to show how her words had pierced him. He hadn't expected her to insist talking to him, let alone yell at him or even demand things from him. He would not give his emotions away so easily, as affected by her speech as he was. His muse seemed genuinely sad and quite frankly he couldn't make himself believe that it had all been just an act. However, he found nothing wrong with being precautious. He'd been fooled once, he would not let himself be fooled twice. And how it hurt, even now. Though her apologies made it seem easier to bear, the pain was there - the pain of a wounded pride. That was why he couldn't bring himself to forgive her. Not yet, anyway. The Phantom needed time to think it through, to lick his wounds and find a way to know what to do next.

That was why he couldn't console her. He would do what he thought best given the circumstances; being alone in the same room as Christine aroused certain feelings and sensations that remained though he was mad at her. In the most courteous way he found he said, at last:

"I heard you. And I will consider your words, Miss Daaé. Now, you should eat your toast while I go and fetch Mdme. Giry."

And the Phantom left the room.


	4. Turning Tables

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, here's chapter 4! I know, I know, both Erik and Christine are very stubborn. Review please!
> 
> Enjoy! :D
> 
> Disclaimer: I do not know own POTO. All hail Gaston Leroux and Sir Andrew Lloyd Webber!

\- Christine's POV -

Christine looked through the window. Christmas Eve. Everything was covered with snow. Paris was truly beautiful in the winter, especially when this time of the year arrived. All stores and streets were marvelously decorated with countless lights and ribbons, chants filled up the air.

She hadn't seen the phantom since he left the room to call Mme. Giry. The middle-aged teacher had come and took her to her primma donna room. Just like that. Of course there had been severe looks of disapproval and a few harsh words such as "Are you a child, Christine? I thought you had more sense than that! Mon Dieu, coming to these catacombs all by yourself!" and "You were lucky that he found you, you really were". While listening to the reprimands, Christine felt she'd let herself down by doing something so irresponsible, so thoughtless.

Surprisingly enough, she didn't regret what she'd done. Christine knew she'd put herself in terrible danger, but with that feeling also came the certainty that she would have done it again if put in the very same situation. Not that it was wise, not at all. It had been stupid to allow despair to take the best of her, Christine knew it. She also knew that it was best not to act as if she were the heroine of a novel or a fairy tale. The Phantom had come to her rescue, that was true enough. As was also true that it had been sheer luck - some might even consider it a miracle.

So, there she was. Back to square one. Christine couldn't help but sigh. It felt like all the effort had gone to waste. All those letters, being able to face him and tell him how sorry she was - all she got was an "I will consider your words". Which really meant he wasn't going to forgive her or even talk to her again. Well, at least she had tried, not that she was conformed with that. But for the time being, it was better to give the phantom some space, she reckoned. Hopefully, things would turn out alright.

After spending a few weeks in bed, she'd progressively returned to rehearsal. Mme. Giry had called in a doctor, who confirmed she didn't have a concussion. Still, he advised her to rest and to slowly resume her routine, which she was almost accomplishing.

Raoul came to see her almost everyday, which had made room for gossip in Opera Populaire. Even though she refused all of his advances, he insisted on coming and giving her presents, most of which she would refuse, give to Meg or throw into a drawer never to see daylight again. It was expected that they should be a couple, which they were not. Just friends, she told herself. He knows that I don't wish to marry him. I've told him that a million times! But the Vicomte wasn't giving up on her easily, he'd proven as much. And as flattered as she could feel, she also felt flustered. What if the Phantom heard the gossip? Worse, what if he believed it? She didn't want to give him any more reasons to hate her. Well, not that my romantic life concerns him anyway. But that wasn't entirely true, was it? She was actually quite worried over the possibility that he might think she was in love with another. Not that she would ever admit it, but she kind of liked his possessive strikes. And lately she would find herself thinking that he wasn't that bad-looking. He had presence, was a literate man and a fine gentleman. He sang, composed, wrote, drew and God knows what else. And most importantly, he had passion… The way he'd held her in the lair proved as much. Even if that wedding dress was a little over the top, it showed he cared for her. For all these years, he'd taken care of her.

Christine sighed once more and prayed that things would get simpler, just like in the old times.

\- Erik's POV -

This time of the year didn't used to mean much to him. It was Christmas, a time for celebration of all things good in the world and love for one another. Having never felt loved by anyone or acknowledged particular nice things about mankind in general, it didn't bear particular meaning to him. That was, until he met Christine. Then it had become a magical night where we would make her dreams come true and remind her that she was not alone. It had become a spectacle, something he prided himself on offering her. He would leave her flowers and pastries by her nightstand and at midnight sharp he would always leave her a small present. The look on her face was priceless and filled his heart with something he'd not know until then. Love. All he wanted then was to make her feel like that forever. Neither one of them would ever have to feel lonely again. Things used to seem so simple when it was all about Christine and him. They had a world of their own, something only theirs than no outsider could ever reach. Until now.

He'd been spending too much time thinking about what she'd said, weighing her words and expressions, trying to decode it all. And thought that maybe she deserved a second chance, much for both of their sakes - he couldn't possibly imagine his world without her. Not now, when he'd come so close…

That's why this night was so important. It was a different Christmas. All repressed feelings were out, and none of them could draw back now. Christine would have to make her choice. And he wouldn't take it any other way. For how many years had he longed for her, for her love? He'd built his world around her, until she'd become his world. It was madness, he knew it. He felt like he was no longer in control of his actions, not when it came to her. His wildest side had been unleashed and the temptative brunette was the one to blame. Things were greatly changed: she was no longer a child, and beneath the angel façade was a man. Their friendship, if one could call it so, was held on a very fragile thread. He wanted more. Having the chance to get more, he wouldn't set for anything less. And the phantom would no longer treat Christine as his adored protegé. Not today.

This time, there would be no presents at midnight. They would talk and sort things out for once and for all; everything about this situation was draining him of all patience and energy and he had the feel that both of them needed the give an end to it. Erik had to obtain answers and, in exchange, was preparing himself for all the unavoidable Christine's questions.

It was almost time. Erik gulped.

\- Christine's POV -

Christine looked at the clock and yawned. In 10 minutes it would be midnight and she was restless. In previous years, midnight meant mysterious presents and an even more mysterious presence. She gave a deep sigh. Maybe this time midnight would bring her something nice as well. At least that was she was hoping for.

Suddenly, there was a knock on the door and Christine's heart was about to jump out of her chest. Her voice quivered when she said "Come in."

She turned around quickly, hoping to see the man who had saved her life.

The Vicomte de Chagny was standing next to the door. Christine's hopeful smile faded immediately.

"Raoul? W-what…"

"Good night, Christine."

She composed herself. "Good night. I'm sorry for being so rude, I wasn't expecting anyone to come here." Liar. I'm a ruthless liar. "To what do I owe this visit?"

Raoul gulped visibly and nervously unbuttoned his winter coat.

"Little Lotte… I've meant to ask you this for a few weeks, but for some reason I thought today was just… right."

What? What could he possibly want of me at midnight - midnight! - On Christmas Eve?

"You certainly seem distressed, but wouldn't it be wise to speak tomorrow instead? After all, it's late and I was about to go to b-"

"Christine."

Before she could utter any other word, Raoul was kneeling, a small square box in his hand. Before she could stop him, he opened it and said "After years apart, we met again and I can't help but feel like fate has brought us together. These past months have been magical and my only hope is that you give the chance to spend more and more time by your side. Would you marry me?"

Christine was petrified. This was mostly unexpected, especially given that she'd been practically ignoring him ever since the rooftop incident. How he'd concluded they should be married, she had no idea. They'd never kissed, their conversations were never long and she had been constantly dismissing him. And now she would have to refuse him.

"Christine, is there anything wrong?"

Raoul was growing impatient, no doubt. She hadn't said anything at all yet and was still thinking about the most courteous way to address him without hurting him too much - something that seemed rather impossible but needed to be done anyway.

"I can't marry you".

It wasn't exactly a delicate way to put things, but at least she was going straight to the point. There was no easy way out; it was better to put an end to his false hopes quickly and hope for the best.

He got up and grabbed her hand swiftly. "Christine, you don't need to be afraid anymore - the monster is long gone. That creature won't keep us from being happy, he can't. I'll do my best to protect you from it."

Christine drew her hand back and the Vicomte stared at her bewildered.

"I'm afraid you don't understand. I don't wish to marry you."

"Little Lotte, you don't need to pretend-"

"I won't marry you because I don't love you." There, she'd said it. It was a horrible thing to say, she knew. But lying about it wouldn't make it less true.

\- Erik's POV -

Erik was behind the bedroom mirror, not being able to leave. He almost had, when that sneering boy had entered the room; but some strange force had compelled him to stay. By the time the Vicomte gallantly proposed to Christine blood in his veins froze for what seemed like an eternity. That is, until he heard her say "no". He thought he was dreaming; after all, why wouldn't she want to marry the boy? "I don't love you", she'd told Raoul. She hadn't spared his feelings, that was for sure. However, the phantom couldn't help but think about her actions the same way the Vicomte seemed to.

Maybe it was him the reason why rejecting Raoul so blatantly. But she hadn't quivered, there was no regret in her eyes, nothing that indicated hesitation in her actions.

Suddenly, he heard the boy.

"You're scared Christine, I know it. Last weeks were not easy on you and this proposal came to you as a shock, I have no doubt of it. But soon you'll cool your head down and you'll cease to be scared. Until then, I'll wait for your response." His tone was slightly desperate, but at the same time commanding.

Then, Christine snapped.

"I have already given you my answer. And don't act as if you know any better than me what is it that I'm feeling or thinking. I'm not a puppet!"

That was… interesting. And certainly not the reaction he was expecting. His Christine, always so kind and gentle, was using the harshest tone of voice he'd ever heard from her. She was growing to have a mind of her own. That fact comforted Erik the most and scared him all the same.

"You are clearly out of your mind! I'll come back when you think it through. Merry Christmas, Christine."

The Vicomte left indecorously and slammed the door. No doubt, he was furious and things had not had the outcome he'd expected. Well, that applied to Erik as well. Christine had certainly managed to surprise them both.

His look was on Christine, who was blushing furiously out of rage. She sighed and turned to the mirror. For how long she stared, he couldn't tell. Some would say she looked rather disappointed, but why? He figured that things were complicated enough was they were; there was no need to walk into the room and blow away his cover; she would immediately know he'd seen everything and he didn't wish to upset her even more. Also, Erik wished to confirm what she'd said - that she didn't love Raoul De Chagny.

This night had certainly turned the tables around, but not the way Erik had anticipated. Maybe it was best to leave things as they were for a while.

Christine went away and blew the candles.

There was nothing left for him to do.


	5. Masquerade

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finally I made it out of chapter 5. I have the next four chapter plan, so hopefully I'll manage to upload a little faster.
> 
> Thank you for the lovely reviews :)
> 
> Disclaimer: I don't own POTO. All credits go to Sir Andrew Lloyd Webber and Monsieur Gaston Leroux.

\- Erik's POV -

A new year would soon begin. At the Opera Populaire, everyone was pulling out the best outfit they could for the Masquerade Ball. The dance provided the chance to bring out each and everyone's most unimaginable eccentricities. Oh, Paris in a crowded baroque ballroom.

Erik breathed in deeply. Tonight, not only would he announce to all of Paris his most recent masterpiece, he would also have to face Christine. Christine, who he hadn't seen since Christmas' Eve. He felt he ought not to, in case she changed her mind. Hope was building up and that same fact frightened him, for things had gone wrong far too many times – he dreaded hope, because that same hope could crush him to the depths of despair. The cruel obsession he kept over Christine, the loneliness he felt when she was not around, the remembrance of his former friend… The pain was too much to bear. Despite it all, the monstrous face and genial mind, he was a man, nothing more.

Drifting away these thoughts, he looked around. The ballroom was splendid. André and Firmin had really outdone it with the boy's fortune. The ball was splendid, despite general backstage inebriation. All of it was pure extravagance and luxury, as never before witnessed in the opera house. Everything was silver and gold and the dancers would move as gracefully as one could imagine.

_Masquerade… paper faces on parade!_

_Masquerade! Hide your face so the world will never find you!_

Ironically enough, this was the only night throughout the whole year when it wasn't necessary for him to hide from anyone. In spite of wearing his mask as always, on this day he wouldn't stand out from the crowd, but instead he would be a part of it. Not that he did truly. In the end, he alone would have to wear it until the end of his days. All those people would go back to their normal lives after the ball – the mask would come off, although not his. Of course this didn't mean a masked ball didn't have its advantages. He could still mingle, even if discreetly.

Erik looked for a discrete spot where he could stand without being bothered. And then, he saw her.

\- Christine's POV –

Christine entered the ballroom. Twirls of color were everywhere. Despite admiring all the beautiful decorations and dances, she was much too tired. On the last few days, a hoard of admirers would gather every day at the entrance of the opera house in hopes of asking her to accompany them to the ball. They'd tried to bribe her with chocolates, flowers, and even diamond rings and necklaces, but she had sent them all back. Occasionally, she thought of Christmas night. He hadn't come. Ever since the night in his lair, there hadn't been a single sign as to his forgiveness towards her. Christine felt defeated, but knew she'd done all that she could in order to gain his trust back. She just hoped it would be enough. These thoughts wouldn't get out of her head, and as a result she'd barely slept since Raoul's unexpected proposal and felt tense at how he would take their encounter.

Hopefully, nothing would happen. Christine tried to keep her spirits up. She had come along with Meg and Mme. Giry, ready to spend a lovely and tranquil night. As she swirled around the room and felt mesmerized by the beauty of it all, someone caught her arm.

"Christine" a cold voice called her. She had but a moment to realize who it was.

"Monsieur de Chagny."Christine had never witnessed the Vicomte in such a state. His tone was harsh and his eyes shone of rage.

"I reckon you have reconsidered my offer to you".

She tried to let go of her arm, but it wouldn't do; his grip on her was much too tight. In the most courteous manner she could, Christine replied.

"In fact, I have not. My decision is irrevocable, I told you so. Pray let go of me."

He clasped her arm even more and with a sudden and violent jerk pulled her closer to him.

"You don't know what you are doing. You think you can take care of yourself now that you're adored by everyone, but you're wrong. I know who you fear. Him, the Phantom of the Opera."

He was being unusually rude and Christine feared what he might to afterwards. She replied as calmly as she could.

"I don't know what you mean, monsieur. Release my arm and I'll be content to forget about this most unfortunate episode."

\- Erik's POV -

Christine Daaé was looking as lovely as ever, wearing a pink dress that brought out the moony paleness of her skin. No soon had he caught sight of her than the young Vicomte had managed to corner her. Erik grew apprehensive as he heard the conversation proceed.

"If not for that scoundrel, the spectrum that has invaded our lives, we could be together."

Abominable boy! The phantom felt a strike of rage. Was it possible that, after all, that was the real reason why she had refused Raoul de Chagny? Why then would she act like she did at his lair? Could it all be a façade?

"No, we wouldn't. All I said to you is the truth. You'll have to accept it."

Erik could see the Vicomte's face turning crimson. Raoul pushed Christine to an isolated corner. She was terrified, tears sprinkling in her eyes. The boy was acting uncharacteristically violent and threatening. Action was necessary. Just as Raoul was about to raise his hand, Erik emerged from the shadows.

"Mademoiselle?"

The Vicomte stopped and released her immediately. Christine turned around as white as a sheet. Her eyes widened. Doubtlessly, she'd recognized him.

"I hope I'm not interrupting." He sent a furious glare in the Vicomte direction.

Raoul lowered his eyes, visibly mortified. Erik continued.

"Pardon my interference, monsieur. I wonder if I could steal away this lovely lady to a dance?"

Humiliated, the boy gave a short reply.

"We were done." Quickly, he turned away and left.

\- Christine's POV -

Surprise washed over Christine as she was led to a dance by no other than the phantom. She'd known who he was at the moment she heard his voice. Then she looked at him and her chest forgot how it was like to breathe. She supposed he was dressing as Death, but he still looked stunning, though a little too much intimidating.

He was tense, she could tell by the way he clenched his jaw. He was holding her close, both hands possessively grabbing her waist and bringing her body against his. Christine couldn't help whispering in his ear.

"Thank you for rescuing me."

Silence prevailed on his part, but his breath hastened. Christine gulped.

"I'd hoped I would see you at Christmas." He stared at her and she carried on. "I guess you're still cross with me, but I really thought I would hear something from you at least."

His rough voice answered sharply.

"Mademoiselle, you most certainly had no idea what you were getting yourself into when you started this _affaire_  with the Vicomte."

Christine couldn't believe it. This was too much. He was insulting her in the worst possible way and she wouldn't take it.

"What are you implying?"

The phantom looked quite upset and inhaled sharply.

"Raoul de Chagny seemed quite broken-hearted. He also happens to believe the infamous opera ghost to be the cause of his heartache."

She stopped moving. This was most astonishing! "You think I have dismissed Raoul because I'm afraid of what you might do? Is that what this is all about? Me being scared of you?"

"Was that the reason you did so? Why else would you refuse such an advantageous proposal?" Every word he said was dripping sarcasm. "After all, the chance of becoming a vicomtesse doesn't come around everyday." He pulled her so they weren't still on the dance floor.

Blood froze in Christine's veins.

"How did you know that?"

"Hah?" Her angel stared and a genuinely intrigued look crossed his features.

"How could you possibly know about the proposal?"

\- Erik's POV -

He'd been caught off guard. Rage and jealousy had clouded his thoughts and Erik had given himself away.

"This is hardly the place to talk about that", he managed to snap angrily.

"Let us talk somewhere else, then."

He observed Christine. She wouldn't leave it there. Christine looked beyond furious. Surprisingly, she didn't look scared at all. Erik grabbed her and took her away from the ballroom hastily, before anyone noticed they were having a fight.

"Where are you taking me?", she demanded.

"Somewhere we can talk, as you so delightfully have put it."

They entered one of the oldest rooms of the opera. Christine was as angry has he'd ever seen her.

"You were  _spying_  on me?"

He stood silent, his gaze upon her still. Decidedly, he didn't approve Christine's accusatory tone. He sighed. "I wasn't spying on you. I was to come to you at midnight but that insufferable brat came in", he said sternly.

"Why should I believe that?" She was practically yelling at him, face red with anger and eyes watering.

"You might as well believe what you want, Christine."

She panted.

"You could have come to me in the meantime. Why didn't you?"

"I figured you needed time to think about the boy's proposal! And may God have mercy on me if I should ever interfere! The phantom of the opera is clearly clouding your chance of perfect happiness, isn't he? I'm menacing you and threatening anyone that dares come close!"

Her glare was piercing and her voice icy cold.

"Ah, so you really believe that, don't you? I didn't accept if offer because I can't compel myself to marry a man I don't love! Is it that hard to understand? Not everything revolves around the phantom!"

\- Christine's POV –

Swiftly, he came dangerously close and her back was soon touching the wall. His hands were also on the wall, side by side at the level of her waist. Christine was trapped. Her breath faltered and her pulse quickened. His eyes were locked on hers, even in the gloominess of the room.

Soon his breath was on her neck, close to her ear.

"Why wouldn't you love him, dear Christine? And he seems so certain that I'm the one who is destroying his conjugal happiness." His words were acid, filled with disdain. Rapidly, he was pinning her up against the wall, his hands having moved to her waist. She could feel all of his body and his latent fury, but he hasn't hurting her nor was she afraid of him.

"You seem to have grown quite a woman. Not the defenseless naïve little girl I knew." His voice sounded like a purr in her ear, and Christine trembled with excitement. "I'm glad that you refused him. It would be such a shame if you were lying to me. The pain would be… excruciating." His voice was faltering and she couldn't bring herself to say a word. Tears were forming in his eyes, but as soon as theyhad come, they were gone. His eyes were clouded by desire and his lips brushed against hers. For what seemed an eternity, his eyes wandered around her lips.

"Yes, it would be such a shame, Christine…"

Then, when their eyes met, he left the room abruptly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, I know I'm making you suffer. I'm sorry for that (no I'm not!) 8D


	6. Bedtime Stories

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You asked, I delivered! The things is, this chapter is going to be a little shorter that the usual. Context is needed and Masquerade night isn't over yet :3 However, I can promise that the next chapters will bring more development concerning E/C relationship. Bear in mind that in the previous chapter a lot happens in a small amount of time, so there's actually no time for characters to think a lot about what's happening/their feelings/etc. The same happens here, of course. I'm trying to keep as many elements of the movie as I can and (in case you haven't noticed) to take things slowly with E/C. It is more believable this way, I guess!
> 
> Anyway, reviews are always welcome :D
> 
> Disclaimer: I do not own POTO *snifff*

\- Erik's POV -

He had to get out of that room. How could he have done that to her? His conduct towards Christine had been truly unforgivable. He felt no better than the Vicomte. For shame! His anger had taken the best of him. One less ounce of control and he would have kissed her and God knows where that would take him. Erik trembled at the thought, both excited and fearful. If there was something he didn't intend to do was to force himself upon Christine. He'd decided as much, after eavesdropping her refusal to the boy's proposal. But the constant tension between them, hearing her say in the most blatant way that she didn't love the Vicomte, thus dissipating his worst fears… and the look in her eyes, almost pleading. She hadn't been scared. She didn't fear him. And he, in all of his suspicion and jealousy had taken advantage of her. But now wasn't the time. He needed to make his great appearance tonight and stand up to the directors of Ópera Populaire. The piece he had worked so hard for had to be staged. And Christine Daaé would star it. Only she could play the role of Amina - she was his muse, after all. Even though the part was slightly unconventional, he wanted her to do it.

Erik went down to get the fold where the scores were. Quickly, he reached the main hall where most people were. It was time to unveil himself.

\- Christine's POV -

Christine could only hear her heart pounding. Had it all been her imagination? He'd almost kissed her.  _Almost_ , she said to herself bitterly. Christine was feeling somewhat disappointed. The remembrance of their lips brushing kept her panting and blushing furiously, she was sure. The phantom had vanished, no explanations whatsoever - a behavior that was becoming quite common these days. At a loss, Christine decided to go to the great hall, in case Meg noticed her gone. She felt dizzy from all the commotion and sudden bright lights outside the room. Everyone was still dancing around merrily. Meg Giry ran towards her.

"Christine! Are you alright? You look as if you have seen a ghost!" The blonde girl grabbed her hands and looked at her with concern. "I searched for you everywhere. You were nowhere to be seen, you know."

Christine forced herself to smile encouragingly. "I felt indisposed for a while, had to go to the restroom. Do not worry about me, I'm fine"

"You seem really tired, Christine. Do not overwork yourself too much, promise me."

"I promise." They smiled to each other and proceeded walking close to the stairs, where Mme. Giry was.

Suddenly, the music stopped and most of the ballroom lights went out. A red figure appeared at the top of the staircase.

"It's him, the phantom of the opera", she heard Meg say.

\- Erik's POV -

_Why so silent, good Messieurs?_

_Did you think that I had left you for good?_

_Have you missed me, good Messieurs?_

_I have written you an opera._

_Here, I bring the finished score - Don Juan Triumphant!_

There was no denying it. He was enjoying himself a lot more than he intended. The faces of André and Firmin were priceless. They were petrified with surprise. Which was exactly what he intended. He smirked with satisfaction at himself as he kept on greeting them in his own special way.

_Fondest greetings to you all…_

_A few instructions just before rehearsal starts_

_Carlotta must be taught to act_

_Not her normal trick of strutting round the stage_

_Our Don Juan must lose some weight_

_It's not healthy in a man of Piangi's age_

_And my managers must learn that their place is in an office_

_Not the arts..._

He was not so comfortable now. It was time to assess the part to Christine, his Amina. Erik felt embarrassed with himself, but would not let it ruin his performance. The Phantom had to reclaim his rightful place and not let the directors play him like a fool. This was his dominion and here he reigned supreme.

_As for our star, Miss Christine Daaé..._

_No doubt she'll do her best_

_It's true, her voice is good_

_She knows, though_

_Should she wish to excel_

_She has much still to learn_

_If pride will let her return to me, her teacher_

_Her teacher..._

As he went down the staircase towards Christine, he noticed her looking quite distressed. Their eyes locked once again and for a moment, he was lost in recollections of her lips close to his, of her body against his own. When he snapped out of it, his voice resounded the great hall.

"You must do as I say, or else you will curse the day you didn't do what I commanded."

Allowing himself to look at Christine one last time, he disappeared into a ball of fire.

\- Christine's POV -

Christine felt weak and nearly passed out if it hadn't been for Mme. Giry and Meg. Images of the phantom were playing on her mind. The way he'd vanished in the middle of fire, his piercing gaze on her while descending the staircase, his sudden appearance, a vision in red… What troubled her the most was her reaction to his presence. He was so intense, so overwhelming - how could she ever deal with a man like that?

"My dear, you must rest. It has been a night of great agitation for you, no doubts about that. I should accompany you to your room."

She was with Mme. Giry in a small room, where no one would disturb them. Not that anyone would, anyway. The ball had dispersed from the moment the phantom made his appearance.

"Mme. Giry, I have a favor to ask of you."

The middle-aged woman remained calm, but sternly answered. "I know no more than anyone else, Christine."

"That's not true. You always know how to contact him, and always uses you as his messenger. Please, tell me about him. I must know more about this man!"

Mme. Giry seemed confused.

"I do not wish him any harm, Mme. Quite on the contrary. I need to find a way to understand him better. Please, Nette. Pray tell me everything you know."

Calmly, Mme. Giry held Christine's hand. "I trust your good sense, Christine. Deep down he's just a tormented genius."

For the following hour, Christine would hear the most astonishing, cruel and fantastic story of her life.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you liked it! Review please :)


	7. Weeping Angels

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Soooo… new chapter is up! Hope you like it :) Review please!
> 
> Disclaimer: I do not own POTO, but I really wish I did!

\- Christine's POV -

As the day rose, Christine got up. Ever since her father had died, she would visit his grave on the first day of each year. She had always thought of it not as a sign of grief, but of hope. Hope that, wherever he was, he could guide and help her through troubled times. This year, she needed him more than ever before – she had improved her social status as a primma donna, but that fact didn't console her much. She would give anything to go back to much simpler times, when everyday was magical and she didn't have to worry about marriage proposals from vicomtes or masked men. Christine might have been poor and disregarded as a not very promising ballerina, but she'd never felt as lonely before. The events that had taken place the night before only made it worse. She had spent all night long tossing and turning, trying to make sense of everything Mme. Giry had told her about the opera ghost. He was just a man, she knew as much. Illusions concerning him had shattered a long time ago – Christine was no longer as ingenuous as she'd once been. But the story of his life had left a strong impression on her. How lonely he must have been all these years! A poor child living under the opera house, afraid of the harsh cruelty of men. His geniality never acclaimed, a life of shadows and death. The powerful mighty Phantom of the Opera had hidden not only his face but also his identity under the mask, concealed from the world and its malice. Never loved, always feared. Never a friendly gesture from anyone, not a word of kindness. Christine pitied him. How could she not? Despite his unfortunate life, he had always been kind to her. Everything she was, she owed it to him. Had he not noticed her, not taken her as his protégé, her life would have been a lot harder. Despite all of this, her angel had managed to love her in his own way. And he was not a young boy any longer. No, quite the contrary; he was a powerful man who was thirsty for love.

Her lips still tingled with remembrance of the previous night. The husky voice still echoed in her ears, the memories of duskiness in those emerald green eyes still sent shivers down her spine. What was she supposed to do? She'd been caught off guard by his behavior. So very possessive, so very rough. What would have happened if he had stayed? Christine trembled with excitement at the thought. But it still upset her that he accused her of having had an affair with Raoul. Of all people her angel should know that such accusations had no ground. Not to mention the role he had assigned to her on his opera. He wanted to teach her again? What could he possibly mean by that?

As thoughts ran wild, Christine dressed and went down to the stables. The opera house was silent and everyone was soundly asleep. Quickly, she addressed one of the stablemen and gave him a silver coin. "To my father's grave, please."

On her way, Christine felt the cold wind blowing on her face. Confusion had settled in her mind and she felt hopeless. Entering the cemetery, memories resurged in her mind and tears streamed down her face. At a quick pace she got to Gustave Daaé's grave. On this day, grief got the best of her. "Papa, what am I to do? What would you have me do?" Sobs started to build up. "I feel so lost, papa. My angel won't forgive me. I don't know what to do. I lost my friend, I lost the one friend who stayed when you were gone. What a fool I've been! I was so heartless, I really was. And I'm being punished for it, I am!" Christine cried her heart out. She didn't know how long had passed, but it had started to snow heavily and she was shivering with cold. It was time for her to leave. Silently, she said her prayers and went back to the Ópera Populaire.

\- Erik's POV –

A chilly morning was upon him. Or at least he supposed, since he had no way of knowing in his lair. Last night had drowned him in guilt and shame. His conduct towards Christine had been abominable and he hated himself for it. Just when he had the chance to set things right between them, he had to sabotage the whole thing! Erik truly believed Christine to be horrified by his actions. He had always tried to act the perfect gentleman around her, to make her feel safe in his presence. And yet again, he had managed to frighten her further, proving himself the monster she undoubtedly believed him to be. After rescuing from that boy, he had worsened things. There was no other way – he needed to apologize properly. For Erik, honor had always been a second plan issue; survival had always been his priority. This time, it was different. It wasn't about survival, it was about respecting the woman he so dearly loved. Christine's acceptance was too important for him - it was invaluable to have her in his life and he was ready to accept his faults, as much as it wounded his pride.

He got ready to go out. If his memory didn't fail him, Christine went to the graveyard on the first day of every year. Erik decided not to follow her, for he understood her need for a private moment to mourn the loss of her father. He had to restrain himself when it came to her and would not disrespect her further by going after Christine. In fact, he would rather wait for her to return.

Ever so carefully, he went to the stables. Fortunately, the extensive celebrations that had taken place made it easier for him to move to an isolated spot, from which he could observe perfectly everything that took place without being noticed.

The carriage appeared at the end of the alley. Christine got off of it swiftly and Erik managed to hold her arm. He had startled her but she didn't cry out loud, thankfully. Erik examined her face. Red puffy eyes were an absolute trace of crying and there was such desolation in them that his heart sank. Erik couldn't help but feel that the tears had been his fault, even if partially.

"Christine." His tone was grave. "I need to talk to you most urgently."

\- Christine's POV -

She was taken aback by the phantom's sudden appearance. His look was serious, his presence as dark and mysterious as ever; fascinating as only the phantom of the opera could be. Christine had definitely not anticipated this. Of course, she had assumed that they would need to speak eventually. Or so she had hoped. Anyway, whatever the matter it seemed serious enough to make him into broad sunlight – well, not exactly, since it was snowing and the sky was darkened by big deep grey clouds.

"Alright then. Let us talk." She replied softly, almost whispering.

Without further exchange of words or looks, the phantom led her through staircases and tunnels, until they had reached the top of the opera house. They entered a dusty room contiguous to the rooftop. Clearly it wasn't used very often, for it was completely empty. Christine thought that it would have made a splendid ballroom. Not only was it enormous, but it also had one of the most exquisite features she'd ever found in a room - glass walls and roof. How come no one knew about this? She had lived in the opera house for about twelve years and never had she realized this room existed! She was charmed by it and it wasn't until she heard the phantom's footsteps that Christine remembered what she'd come there for. She turned around and noticed the gloomy expression across the phantom's face. He appeared distressed, which was making Christine the more anxious.

"What is it?"

He was looking in her direction, but at the same time he seemed absentminded. It was almost as if he was looking through her, not at her. Slowly, he moved towards her.

"Christine…" the golden voice was quivering. "Forgive me." The phantom looked down and breathed in deeply. His eyes were wandering around, not focusing on anything. His look was drawing away from Christine.

"W-what?" She was astonished, and rather perplexed.

"I want to apologize for my manners last night. I am deeply ashamed of my behavior towards you. I assaulted you, harassed you! I can't forgive myself for those vile actions. You are right to think of me as monster; I deserve no other name regarding my conduct. I'm a beast, a brute!" His words were getting louder and harder at himself, filled with hatred.

"Stop it!" she heard herself cry.

The man looked her straight in the eyes for a moment, but then carried on with his speech of self-loath, thunderous echoing. "But I am a monster! I KILLED BUQUET! And yesterday I almost took advantage of you! I pushed you against the wall, I almost…" he gulped. "…forced myself upon you. I must be a beast of the worst sort! I wouldn't blame you if you feared me and detested me. I deserve it, I do deserve it…"

As serenely as she could, Christine said.

"You did not assault me or mistreat me." She touched his arm and the phantom looked at her. The expression in his eyes could only be interpreted as disbelief.

"I pushed you! And my behavior was most inappropriate! Christine, I almost tainted you!"

"You did not do such a thing, monsieur! I'm not injured! In fact, if it hadn't been for you I might as well could have been harmed!" Christine was sobbing. "Don't call yourself such things, please. You have saved my life and yesterday you rescued me again." She tried to smile. "Don't say such things. You couldn't have possibly taken advantage of me, you barely even touched me! Please, don't punish yourself needlessly." Weeping, she continued. "I'm unworthy of such actions from you. I'm the one who needs forgiveness. I should have thought of how lonely you were, of how kind you were to me when I was alone. I could have been a better friend to you, and still you kept protecting me. You have no idea of how much I owe you. Don't say such things. I am not afraid of you and I trust I could never be."

\- Erik's –

Erik thought he was dreaming. Was Christine really saying such things?

"I'm not plotting against you. Do you believe me now?"

Her expression was honest and hopeful. He could not deny her sincerity and generosity towards him. Not any longer. Pain stung in his chest and shock overcame him. How come he could have been so blind? All that time, she had been trying to reach out to him, and he had been so consumed with jealousy and suspicion that he had kept her at bay.

"I killed a man, Christine. My hands are of a murderer."

"Why did you do it?" was her calm reply.

"I had advised Firmin and André about for the cast of 'Il Muto', as you well know." Erik groaned. "After my appearance, Buquet tracked me down. I couldn't let him catch me… he was too close." His eyes shone with unshed tears. "I couldn't let him. Men are wicked, Christine. You have no idea." He was shaking.

Christine did not respond. She got closer and embraced him, her resting head on his chest. They'd never been this intimate. Actually, he'd never been this intimate with anyone. No one had ever held him. No one had ever cared. He held her back in a clumsy way, but she did not flinch.

"I am not afraid of you." She looked up and released him ever so slowly. They stared at each other for a long time, until she broke the silence.

"May I ask you something?" Her voice was slightly shaking but soft. He gave her an encouraging look.

"What is your name?" A flush spread across her cheeks and she looked away shyly. "I m-mean, you don't have to tell me if you do not wish to. It's just that…" Their eyes locked. "… I find it strange not having anything else to call you but 'angel'."

Oh. From all the questions she could have asked – and that he imagined she would ask – he had not considered this one.

"Erik. My name is Erik."

"Erik." She repeated. His name sounded magical on her lips.

They fell into comfortable silence again. Snowflakes were gently falling outside, looking like small crystal stars as the sun shed on them. Christine was tremulous and he didn't know if she was cold or emotional. He took of his gloves and gently whispered.

"Christine."

"Hm?" She had been watching the snow most thoughtfully and now her chocolate curls bounced as she turned her head towards him. He held her small delicate hands in his own and affectionately squeezed them

"Your hands are cold."


	8. Questions

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey hey! Finally, a brand new chapter has arrived! Sorry for taking so long, it seems writer's block really got me for these past weeks. Anyhow, enjoy and don't forget to review :D (oh, i'm sorry for any spelling mistakes - my Ginger app is not working correctly :')

\- Christine's POV -

Life had never been more exciting to Christine. Since New Year, everything seemed to be falling in to place in a very tranquil way. She had been promoted to primma donna in Opera Populaire - these were, of course, exciting news; however, she knew the administration board had only done so regarding the phantom's threats. Both André and Firmin were far too fond of Signora Carlotta Giudicelli. Sometimes, Christine would catch them staring at her suspiciously, probably afraid of her influence over Raoul. Surely she knew about the all the gossip about her and the supposed affaire with the vicomte; some staff of the opera house had even commented the reason why Monsieur de Chagny had abruptly stopped visiting was that he suspected her to be involved with other men - nonsense, all of it! Not that she cared. Christine was completely dedicated to her work life, and was rapidly getting accustomed to the routine of a first soprano. Seldom did she leave the building at all! As far as anyone could tell, she was the most hard-working person on the stage, never missing rehearsals and being scrupulously on time - always the first to arrive and the last one to leave. Christine had a strong reason for it. All eyes were on her. After all, everyone knew that the Phantom had chosen her to play the main role. And that wasn't something to be overlooked easily; she had to prove what a good singer she was. As never before, Christine was determined to excell. This was no ordinary play - it required an outstanding voice that could convey all the secret feelings and undisguised passion in her character. Actually, she found the play quite exquisite and most extraordinary. The first time she had read it, Christine started blushing so furiously that she had to wash her face no less than three times. This was what was expected of her? Playing a näive young girl caught in the depths of desire, entagled in the web of a seductive womanizer? Not only was this shockingly different than any opera she'd seen or even heard of before, it was also something that she had never expected from Erik. To think that role had been written specifically for her made Christine red to the roots of her hair. Well, she didn't venture to wonder wether he had written it with her in mind, symbolizing Aminta. It just seemed too incredible to her, since Christine did not think there were any similarities between them. She preferred, still unconvinced, that it must have been for her vocal range and acting abilities.

Or not. The more Christine tried to recall her first night in the catacombs, as well as the music the ghost had sung for her, she felt that he didn't mean her to be just friends with him. The way he'd held her and stayed close didn't hint at "just friends". That and the Masquerade Ball night. It had been about two months, but she remembered that every single day, still puzzled by his actions and their meaning. Fortunately, she was slowly gathering the courage to confront him about that. Despite being with him every day, she wouldn't dare making such questions just yet, for it might break the trust he had bestowed on her. For the last few weeks, they hadn't just been pupil and teacher - they had also been dear friends. The wall between them seemed to have been destroyed almost entirely and Christine was infinitely grateful for it. She had learned so much about Erik in such a short period of time! He had traveled through the East and had collected the most astounding collection of objects. He told her about women who kept their face covered except for the eyes, and showed her books in languages and alphabets she had never heard of. One thing she noticed was that never once did he speak of his childhood - anyone who would listen to him would have thought that his life had only begun by the time he had found himself in Eastern Asia! Christine was delighted to have the opportuniy to know more about his life outside the opera house. It meant that he had not confined himself, unlike so many stories she had heard. He was a well-versed man, outstanding in every area of knowledge. Had it not been for the mask that covered half of his face, he would easily pass for a high-rank gentleman, a nobleman of some aristocratic family. His posture was consistently proud and confidant and Christine admired him exceedingly for it, knowing how rough his younger years had been on him. To have the chance to know the man behind the man was a privilege to her, and she cherished it dearly. She couldn't help but wonder how his life could have turned out if he hadn't been born with such a scarred complexion. Probably he would have become a word-class artist, admired by all. Not that his geniality remained hidden, not anymore. Don Juan would be his catappult to success, she was sure of it. Perhaps slightly unconventional, the play would definitely be remembered for its boldness and bewitching melodies. And Christine would play the heroine, the forever disgraced Aminta. As much as she avoided any comparison betweem Aminta and herself, her head kept on displaying parallelisms that were quite hard to ignore. There was only one way to solve this riddle, and that was confrontation, a path she had been trying to avoid.

However, curiosity had always taken the best of her and she wouldn't settle until she knew exactly why she was to play Aminta or, more importantly, why he had written such a character for her. Christine couldn't help but feel this role had something to do with her directly, and she was restless as to Erik's intentions. For several times she had tried to introduce the subject, but somehow he had always managed to change subject or give evasive, but effective answers. Still feeling a little shy around him to introduce such a scandalous topic, Christine would give up momentarily. But that wouldn't suffice for long, she knew. Soon she would start rehearsals with Ubaldo Piangi, for the final act. And as professional as she could be, Christine had no idea how to handle such an intense episode with no other than Piangi as her supposed object of desire. Thankfully, Monsieur Reyer had greatly limited their interaction on stage, as not to hurt susceptibilities of the audience. That only meant that the scenes where Christine was to profess her undying love had to be even more believable both in song and gesture. How she was to do that was still a mystery in her head - Piangi was by no means the ideal actor do counterpart with. He constantly wished to be in the spotlight and though his singing was quite impecable, his acting ways were stiff, rigid, deploit of naturality or charm, all qualities that did not make her mission any easier. In time, Christine knew she would have to ask Erik for guidance. And then, she would try to inquiry him further with the questions that were still hanging in her head.

\- Erik's POV -

Another day had passed and the opening night for Don Juan was approaching. Erik was pleased with rehearsal instructions from Monsier Reyer. The old maestro had always been one of the few competent people in Ópera Populaire, eventhough he wasn't as rigid as the phantom wished him to be. In such a position, it was far better to have someone like Madame Giry, who accepted nothing less than perfection from her corps de ballet - in result, excellence prevailed. Not like Reyer, for sure, whose soft temper had led to ridiculous demands from Carlotta!

Erik was also very glad that Reyer had limited the stage interaction between Piangi and Christine. Eventhough the manuscript of the play implied that they should act as lovers, for once the phantom was thankful that Monsieur Reyer saw himself as a decent man who wouldn't dream of putting such heated scenes on stage. Erik had pushed it with the dialogues as well, but then he had never intended for Piangi to play the Count's part in the first place! Come to think of it, the magnificence of his play was slightly diminished with Ubaldo as the irresistible hero. Not only was he too fat and short to play the role, he did not have the intense masculine presence the part required. Don Juan was supposed to be a seductor, an irresistible man, the downfall of Aminta - an image Piangi could hardly convey to the audience. Frustration aside, Reyer's modifications meant that Christine would hardly have to be touched by Ubaldo Piangi. That was a relief, given his tendency to 'incidently' grope ballerinas and chorus girls. As long as Christine was safe from his hands, Erik could be much calmer and work diligently without any distractions. Fortunately, the last couple of months had been a blessing for him. Talking to Christine had proved to be the right thing to do and Erik couldn't recall a time when he was happier. Everyday he would see Christine in private, for she had resumed singing lessons with him. Despite the initial awkwardness at being face to face as pupil and teacher, they had soon grown accustomed to it and were getting closer than ever before. Most of the times, Christine would stay after the lessons and they would speak about almost anything until it was time for dinner. It delighted him to see her amazed stare at the stories he would tell about his travels around the world. There was so much he wanted to show her, to teach her! There was so much more about him than the man with the mask! Erik really wished her to be pleased by this side of him. After all, he was showing her who he really was and giving her a glimpse of the man he could be. The man he hoped she one day would want to be with. And, as far as he could tell, she had shown no sign that indicated otherwise, though there was no reason to get his hopes up either.

Her perfomance would be sublime, he anticipated. Her voice seemed to have been created solely for the purpose of singing Aminta's arias; its range was unbelievable, something most composers could only dream of. Still, Erik thought Christine was far too innocent, far too young to provide due maturity and sensuality to the role. The whole play had been a fantasy of his, a means to take revenge against Christine and the vicomte. In his head, Aminta was Christine and he was no other than Don Juan. As shameless as it was, and in spite of feeling terribly embarrassed by the fact that his masterpiece had had such shallow inspiration, Erik's most possessive facet did not regret it or even felt compelled to call everything off. Christine lacked experience, there was no doubt about that. But surely she would rise to the occasion, like she had always done. And as to him, he could always pretend and try to hide his true intentions. Thankfully, there was no need to take revenge on anyone now.

As he made some notes on partitures, Christine arrived just in time for her lesson. She looked as breathtaking as ever, dressed in deep green velvet and wild curls loose over rosed cheeks. Erik had just turned around in his chair so he could get up, when she hugged him dearly, almost knocking him out of his chair with astonishment. For the last weeks she had always done this, and while he was still not accustomed to it, it always came as a wonderful surprise. His Christine was precisely the opposite from everyone he had encountered in his lifetime. Friendly, warm and spontaneous. Erik was glad she didn't behave with unease around him, though his body still stiffened when she got too close. Sometimes she would laugh heartidly at his clumsy hugs, but never dared to mock him. Instead, she would pull her arms more closely around him and say "You see? This is what you have to do" while resting her head on his shoulder. It felt nice to have someone who wouldn't cringe away from him, eventhough he wasn't used to such displays of affection. Week after week, he felt more confidant around her and happy that she seemed to feel that way as well.

Lessons started and Erik automatically assumed the posture of a tutor. This week, Christine had been a little more distraught than usual. That was worrisome, given Christine had always been the most exemplary student one could find. Sometimes he would find himself correcting her in the most basic details, which was not only unnecessary but also bothersome. Something was going on.

"Christine." Her chocolate brown eyes looked startled at him. "What is the matter?"

She stammered, flushed with embarrassment. "W-what do you mean?"

"Your thoughts seem to be wandering somewhere else. Care to tell me?"

"Oh, I'm sorry. We might start again, if you wish."

Impatiently, Erik stood close to her.

"You have been like that all week. Is everything alright? Are you worried about the opening night? You will be outstanding, like always! I don't care about what those idiots say, you-"

Christine interrupted him and her eyes fixed his.

"I'm not worried." She gulped. "There's something I need to ask you."


	9. Hopes and Fears

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hiii lovely people! Sorry I haven't uploaded in a while, but med school has been draining my energy. Bah. Anyway, this was a fairly complicated chapter to write. I honestly hope you like it. In case there's any grammatical mistake or something like that, free feel to warn me. The chapter has already been revised, but I haven't added anything. I'm working on the next chapter, hopefully it won't take very long to upload!
> 
> Anyway, have fun and please, please, please, review!
> 
> Disclaimer: I do not own anything from POTO, sadly.

\- Christine's POV -

Was she really going through with this? Suddenly, she thought about what she was about to ask Erik. What kind of answers was she expecting, too? She found herself in a situation that was, indeed, more embarrassing than she had expected. Christine was sure that Erik could see right trough her naïveté and insecurity. He was watching her closely, a worried look and furrowed brows in confusion. Her face must be beetroot red, she thought.

Silence still prevailed on her part, her eyes not being able to focus on anything specific, desperately trying to avoid Erik's quizzical glance. Christine tried to breathe in deeply several times hoping that each breath would make it easier for her. Unfortunately, it didn't seem to work well enough. Why did she have to be so nervous now, of all times?

"Well…?" Erik was growing impatient, she could feel it. Christine hadn't uttered a word since her spontaneous inquisitional outburst. Was there any proper way to convey her doubts and suspicions, she hadn't found it yet. And she needed to most desperately or she would make herself pass for a fool in front of Erik.

Christine tried to think as fast as she could. Could a direct approach be the best thing to do, given the circumstances? From what she could tell, nothing else would work. She had tried to insert this subject subtily several times and had failed continuously to capture Erik's attention. Was he evading her questions purposely? Then again, when it came to him, nothing was really predictable. He could turn his back on her, for all she knew. However, Christine hoped this was not the case. Not after all the weeks of proximity. A direct blow it would be, there was no other way out now. Composing herself, and looking Erik straight in the eyes, she gathered the courage she needed.

"I had expected to discuss with you a few details about the opera".

His quizzical gaze still rested on her. Those eyes, the oh-so-green mysterious eyes examined her own. It was as if he could see through all of her questions and fears. This intense look reminded her of a sort of wild animal, ready to attack any time. Erik was getting defensive. But why? He cannot possibly know how I feel about all of this, can he?

"Go ahead." His voice was tense. Yet, his face didn't show any of the turmoil, those clear eyes gave away to her.

"Hmm.. So…" Christine breathed in deeply. "What is Aminta supposed to represent?" She could feel a warm flush spread to her cheek. "W-what I mean is… I don't think I understand the depth of it all. Is this romance? Tragedy? A tale of despise and revenge? B-but… Aminta seems so innocent and Don Juan-" She gulped, trying to put her thoughts in order. "He just wants to hurt her. He despises her. And why - why must everything be so… carnal?" Oh God. Of all things I could say. "They only talk about desire and… such things. What is she supposed to represent? Why did you compose something like this? It is beautiful, that is not where my doubts lay. But… why? It seems so unexpected coming from you."

There was a long period of silence.

"It's just that, there is so much I don't understand… I feel as though I am missing something here. Why compose an opera, so… lustful? Why me as Aminta - Aminta, who is overwhelmed by…"

Her unsaid word hung in the air. She felt as though she was choking on them. Erik's gaze was piercing her, looking in anticipation for them. She felt trapped.

In a short, almost inaudible breath, she concluded.

".. By Don Juan."

Silence ensued, yet again. As much as she eyed Erik, he did not return her looks. He looked both pensive and hesitant. Despite being afraid of his reaction, Christine would not let her questions go unanswered this time. She was trying to regain her composure in the meantime.

After what seemed centuries to Christine, the man with the mask turned to her. His look was fierce and his feline movements towards her did not go unnoticed by Christine.

\- Erik's POV -

She was pushing him to the limit and she knew it. Well, two can play this game. Erik could see right through her. Not that it was very complicated, after all. This conversation, the multiple hints and references he had dropped over the past days were not just about improving her performance, he was sure of it. He knew her far too well - in case this was just a performing issue, she would have stated it plainly and as directly as possible. Christine was not so proud as not to acknowledge her limitations or difficulties, a trait he did not possess. And he admired her exceedingly for it. But now, this was something else entirely. It was as if, somehow, she knew of his feelings when he was composing "Don Juan". Which, by the way, he could not let her know about, for there was a chance they could drive her off. Again. Erik was also quite aware that she wasn't the innocent, naïve girl of once before. She was smart enough to make the connection between the night of the Masquerade Ball and the opera he had written. What was she trying to do? Couldn't she just leave it for once, for both of their sakes? Things were finally heading in a very favourable direction and her incessant questions were torture to him.

He sighed in desperation. His darkest part was taking the best of him. Slowly, he made his way towards Christine. Her gaze didn't leave him for a moment, clearly eager for a response.

"Very well, Christine. Are you sure you really wish to know?"

"Yes, please" she said, without any trace of hesitation in her voice.

Erik didn't answer right away. How could he? It was too much, all of this.

"It is a tale of revenge and desire, you were right about as much, Christine. I fully understand your doubts and questions, in fact. Although personally, I don't think it to be much different from other operas you have studied. What defines it, I would say, is its rawness. There's suspense. The crowd already knows Don Juan's intentions towards Aminta before she does, hence the general shock. The lines also, might be considered censurable, but who in his or her right mind would write on Don Juan and skip to mention desire? I think everyone in Paris knows that story too well to be surprised or scandalized, even." He chuckled lightly. "It is Paris, after all. Let's just say that I decided to be a little more honest about it. Oh, and of course the opera allowed me to explore your vocal range as well, of course."

This was hardly a perfect answer and he seriously doubted Christine would take it as definitive. A single look confirmed it. Her lips pursed, the face expressing confusion and slight disappointment revealed she was not satisfied with the way he'd put things.

"You know that's not what I meant."

\- Christine's POV -

"Hmm?" His voice was a low, baritone purr. She would not be intimidated. She would not.

"You did not answer my questions" She looked him in the eye coldly. "One might think you are evading them, monsieur."

He gave her the most devilish smile. But he didn't look happy or even slightly amused by the situation. She was getting on his nerves. Erik got closer. Christine squinted her eyes, trying to intimidate him. In vain. He doesn't get intimidated by anything in this world.

"Why did you write it?" His calculating eyes wouldn't break contact with hers.

"Inspiration, mademoiselle. Just like every other artist. In fact, Christine, I do not understand why you seem so distressed over a character."

"It is because I don't understand."

"But - what is there to understand? She's an innocent girl who falls hopelessly for a man who is not her husband. The husband wants vengeance. Surely this is not the first time you have heard of an opera with such a plot!"

"What I don't understand is your attitude!" Her voice was high enough to echoe throughout the entire lair. Erik's posture became even more rigid, but a glimpse of concern crossed his features. He reached for her hand. His tone wasn't icy cold anymore, but gentle instead.

"Christine, please. Is something the matter? Have I done anything to upset you?"

"You are evading! AGAIN!" She shouted with exasperation, taking her hand from his and holding the both sides of her skirts. She carried on. "Why ME to play this character? So different from the parts you usually assigned me! And you write it precisely after we met, after all that confusion with Raoul!"

Erik crossed his arms and resumed his stone-like posture. Green eyes were blazing like hot coal.

"Was this a revenge on me? Was I to be the object of your revenge, of your personal vendetta?"

Erik remained silent. She was beyond furious and couldn't hold the growing fury.

"Because you were jealous?" A hint of malice could be easily heard, she didn't doubt that and made no attempt to conceal it.

AS quickly as ever, he towered her.

"Do not talk about things you do not understand, Christine. Leave it as it is." He breathed in deeply. "I thought these matters were passed between us."

"Then why won't you tell me about it?"

"To tell you what? That I was jealous?" He leaned in closer and grabbed her by the waist, his anger running free. "Is that what you want to hear? That you are not the object of my revenge so much as you are the object of my desire as well as my damnable love?" His voice was acid and the hurt in his words was almost palpable. Christine gulped. "That I was mad with jealousy that the vimconte could have you while I would forever be denied the one thing I have ever so much desired?" Erik trembled. His hands held her impossibly tighter, but did not hurt her. His eyes were moist. She had gone too far, she had never meant to..

"Erik, I d-did not-"

"Did not?" The tone was growing hoarse by the time. "For the past few weeks, you have been torturing me with these questions. I thought you wanted to know." His eyes darkened. "But you should not have done it, Christine." Erik played with one of his loose curls and half-smirked. "You have poked the beast. Certainly you are not so innocent as not to realise that." Christine's mouth had suddenly gone dry. "And I shall tell you more, sweet Christine. My Christine." Erik said her name as if it hurt him to simply pronounce it. "I am not an easy beast to tame. Please, do never address that subject again."

She couldn't help it. "You cannot be serious, Erik!", she contested with a whisper.

"Oh?"

"I have every right-"

"To WHAT?" Their faces were but inches from each other. " To remind me of feeling that I, as the beast I am, am not allowed to have? That I am not entitled to the same condition of all other men to feel and deserve desire or love anything, anyone?".

Christine was shocked by the sudden confession. Erik's face was red with anger and his grip on her was as strong as it had ever been.

As if lightning had struck him, Erik stepped back. As he turned his face to avoid her gaze, Christine went towards him and both her hands cupped his face. His eyes widened in surprise and a practically inaudible, desperate whisper followed.

"Christine… Why do you do this to me?" Tears were streaming down his face. He looked so scared. Christine pulled his face closer, stepped on her toes and crushed her lips against his.


	10. Crossroads

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finally, here it is! I'm so sorry I didn't upload this chapter earlier. I now I left it in a bit of a cliffhanger, but I struggled a little to get this done without damaging character development or making it seem too OOC. Actually, I will probably come back to this eventually and change a couple of things, but right now I don't now how else to do this. However, the good news is that the next chapter is already outlined and I will probably be able to upload it hopefully by the end of this week. Please review and tell what you think so that I can improve the story. Thanks!
> 
> Disclaimer: I do not own anything POTO-related. Well, only the OST. And the DVD. And a pen. But that's just it. *cries out loud*

\- Christine's POV -

Christine's heart was racing and her mind blurred. They were kissing. She could hear Erik's heavy breathing and even her own as he pulled her closer against him, both hands slightly above her waist, iron grip. His lips were hot and demanding on hers, and the passion in him unleashed like wild fire, devouring her.

There was fog in her head. For the last minutes her mind hadn't been able to form any coherent thought, as her hands were making their way around in what she could only assume was a very unladylike manner. Both their gestures so desperate, so unbridled that the phantom's mask moved slightly away from the side of his face. Instantly, he jerked away from her. Turning cold and distant, Erik turned around to put on his mask correctly.

Still in shock by the abrupt and even unwelcome distance between them, Christine couldn't bring herself to speak. His back was still turned on her, his panting still audible in the gloominess of the lair, like hers was. Slowly, he crouched close to the lake's bank and lowered his head.

Christine coughed gently, and as she prepares to walk towards him, his voice cut through the thick, abominable silence that had in the meanwhile set in.

"Leave, Christine."

A violent shiver ran through her spine. Whatever she was expecting, this was not it. She stood there, staring blankly for indefinite time. Her heart thumped loudly in her chest and a feeling of nausea overcame her for an instant. The lovely soprano's voice trembled.

"W-what?" Tears were burning her eyes and Christine felt a blush of embarrassment and humiliation creeping up to her cheeks. She felt dizzy and her ears were buzzing with nerves. She fisted her hands and raised her voice. Indignation and disbelief came over her.

"What?" She repeated, as no answer had come.

Like a panther, dark and wild, Erik stood up slowly. Yet again without facing her, he coldly declared "I said for you to leave, Christine. And I meant it. Just… go." He sounded as serious and commanding as she'd never heard him before.

"No.", Christine stated as calmly as she could. "You cannot think that you can dismiss me at your will."

Not moving an inch, he replied hoarsely. "Leave by your own, or I'll drag you up there myself." The phantom's voice echoed in the cave.

"So BE IT!" Her tears were now running down her ivory skinned visage. "I don't know what harm I could have possibly caused for you to shun me like this!" Overwhelmed, the distressed brunette could hardly carry on. Struggling to complete her thoughts aloud, she kept going, defeated. "I-it seems all I do is offend or hurt you in some way. I'm sorry, for I meant to do neither. I just wanted for us to stop arguing, but apparently I made it worse, like always. But don't worry, I'll be gone as you wish. Goodbye, Erik."

Although her last sentence had been practically whispered, Christine knew Erik had heard her, as he shivered ever so slightly at the moment she'd uttered the words. It had even given her the impression that he was going to turn around. He didn't. In fact, despite her slightly (!) Dramatic end of the discourse, Christine stood looking at him for some time. Sensing that Erik wouldn't turn around until she left, she walked away and slowly made her way to her room through the dark catacombs, which she would not leave for the remaining day and the following day with a thundering headache.

Certainly, she and Erik had been in bad terms before, but somehow it felt even worse that it had back then. It was as if something precious had been lost. Now it had been her fault. Again. What kind of person was she, pushing him like this? Christine had not intended to hurt him, she knew as much. As always, curiosity had taken the best of her against better judgment. And it infuriated her. Not only because Erik probably had been hurt by her words, but was now mad about their kiss too. As to why, she couldn't tell. Did he think she was mocking him? Toying with him? It had come unexpectedly, for sure. Even Christine could not fully understand what had perspired between them herself. She'd kissed because… it felt right? This was a stupid explanation as one could use, but it was nonetheless true. There was something about Erik that made her feel drawn to him like moth to flame.

Well, he was handsome or, at least, she thought so. Christine sometimes thought herself an eccentric, for she had pondered more than once about the way Erik's mask became him. But his personality, so strong, so magnetic. That was where she really lost herself. Despite knowing more about him than, well, anyone, the man was as enigmatic to her as he had been on the first day Christine had met him. There were so many layers to uncover, so many things yet to know about him, that everything about Erik became not only incredibly interesting, but also more confusing to her.

And now she would probably know no more of him. She had thrown her chance away. The chance of finding out more about him, of being closer to him. Had Christine been less childish, less prepotent, she would have never found herself in this situation.

Of losing someone you had grown to love, she started to realize.

What am I to do?, she thought as she wept incessantly against her pillow.

Erik's POV-

He stood still as Christine walked away. She was gone. But that was his doing, wasn't it? He had asked her to. No, he had dismissed her. A tingle of remorse was shoved to the back of his track of thought as anger and hurt took its place. He growled in frustration and gritted his teeth. Slowly, Erik stood up. His pace increased as he walked towards the red velvet curtains that worked as the doors to the divisions of the subterraneous cave he called his home. Halfway through he spotted the mirrors scattered around the organ and the candles. Ridiculous. In an attack of fury, he picked up one of the candelabras and hit them against the reflecting objects until they were all broke and thrown to the ground. He panted and sat on the organ's stool. Burying his face in his hands, his head felt as if it was about to explode. What had happened still made no sense to Erik. He had argued with her, yelled at her, held her, kissed her… Aaargh! Why, or more precisely, how had this happened? He'd always tried to act the perfect gentleman with her and Christine's actions had completely taken Erik aback. And at the moment that damnable mask had moved, the beast inside had come forward. He would not be exposed like that! The phantom was not anyone's toy! How dare she!

Before his mind could go on rambling any longer, Christine had spoken. And though he didn't at first consider the words that came out of her pretty lips to be true, he couldn't dismiss them either.

But apparently I made worse, she had said.

The kiss. Erik had lost himself completely once her lips touched his. Her smell, her hair, her touch, the feeling of her body in such proximity to his – it all felt so real. Better even than he had ever dreamt. But a burning doubt remained – who would want to kiss a deformed monster? For the only possible conclusion was that the kiss had been out of curiosity and not of something else. Would Christine go this far to hurt him? Like always, he was the experiment. Pieces of the heated argument kept coming back to his mind. He was a man, but never fully one. An outcast. His face prevented him from joining society anywhere he went, and thus from having what he desired the most – a perfectly normal life.

A painful groan left his throat. Erik had allowed himself to wallow in sadness and despair for much too long and though he had tried to lead his life, without wishing away for what he knew he could never have, his heart didn't keep track. Christine. Always reminding him of his weakness, of his inferiority. Not that he resented her for it. No, he adored her more than he would ever be able to express by words or even music. And her actions, as sincere as they might be, only confused Erik further.

She's too young to understand any of this, his mind told him. She acted foolishingly. And I played along. Bile rose in his throat, his anger came back once more. He refused to play the fool, whatever was crossing her mind. She doesn't know what she's putting herself into, and I'm not to tempt her. That was his final resolution. Maybe it would be for the best if he stepped away for a while. To give her some time. Them, since both could use some, as far as he was concerned. But Erik was sorrowful. Christine was, after all and foremost, his most treasured friend. Of course other feelings were involved from his part, but God knew how hard he had fought to suppress them over the past few months. As he didn't want to detach himself from Christine, Erik didn't feel willing to be thrown onto an emotional carrousel. His mind was too confused already and to think of the possibility of Christine making a fool out of him hurt his feelings deeply. On the other hand, the kiss had awakened certain expectations and hopes within that Erik had tried to bury at all costs. But he would not come to her, for he couldn't bear to be hurt again. The pain of past rejection was too strong for him.

What could she possibly be thinking?, Erik asked himself while hot tears dropped on the ivory keys as he covered his half-marred face with his hands once more.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, what do you think? I'm not sure Christine's or Erik's reactions are "appropriate" considering how they are supposed to be, but especially in Erik's case, I don't think he would despise her or have a major freak-out attack and kidnap her or something along those lines. What do you think? Looking forward to your lovely reviews :3


	11. Mazes

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here it is! I hope it makes up for the last chapter :)
> 
> Disclaimer: I do not own POTO :'<

\- Christine's POV -

Two weeks had passed since that day. Most nights, she would cry herself to sleep, only to wake up hours later with nightmares about the argument and the kiss, and the argument afterwards. As a result, Christine barely slept at all. Unfortunately, that was not the kind of thing that would go unnoticed. Her work was more demanding by the day, as the premiere night approached. Her appetite had also suffered severely, and Meg had already commented on how baggy her clothes looked on her. "You should eat better, Christine.", she said with concern. "Don't work yourself too much, please. Mama and I worry." She tried to look cheerful and worked herself to exhaustion, but depression was taking over, as focused as she tried to be. Against her will, her mind often wandered to Erik and the way she had behaved towards him. It had been too impulsive, too unthoughtful from her. Christine felt ashamed of what had happened and her thoughts about her actions were bitter. The worst was, she hadn't seen Erik, or even heard from him. Every day, when coming back from rehearsal, she was always expecting he would be there or that there was a note from him on the dressing table. That, of course never happened and Christine always felt like and idiot when she felt her hopes being crushed again. No matter how much thought she put in too it, Christine could find a way out of this exasperating situation.

Christine huffed with frustration. She'd waken up to one of her now recurrent nightmares and was preparing for the long day of rehearsals ahead of her. Suddenly, someone knocked on the door. Who could it be at this hour? Before she had the time to answer, Mme. Giry came in. The ballet instructor was clearly upset, lips pursed tensely.

"Nette! What is it?" Christine spoke with concern, for even if Madame's ill-temper was well-know in all of the opera house, the brunette soprano knew better. After all, Antoinette Giry had been the closest she'd had for a mother.

Mme. Giry sighed and answered resignedly. "Mounsieur le Vicomte de Chagny is in his office and he has called on you. He says he wishes to discuss matters concerning your work here in the opera house." As she said it, she rolled her eyes in a clear sign of annoyance.

Christine was surprised. "What could he possibly have to tell me? He's not even a director, for Christ's sake, Raoul's just our patron! I didn't even know the held an office here!" She continued in an exasperated tone. "And at this ungodly hour, no less! I cannot afford to miss rehearsal, Monsieur Reyer will be furious!" Now she was irritated. Christine did not want to see Raoul, let alone speak to him! Their paths had barely crossed since the Masquerade Ball, and the brunette could only be thankful for it. I should never want to speak to that pathetic man ever again! And beyond that, there were other things that concerned her right now. This was too much. Too much. It seems everything comes crashing down at the exact same time. "Mèrde!", she whispered.

Madame Giry arched her eyebrows. "Christine, I know you do not wish to see the vicomte, but you must. It will be quick, you'll see. I don't like any of this more than you do." Antoinette groaned almost noiselessly. "And don't use such vulgar language, I taught you better manners than that, mademoiselle."

Christine lowered her head. "I know, Nette. I'm sorry."

"And do not address the vicomte using his Christian name. He's, after all, our patron and you are not that intimate, whatever those vipers might say. You must keep your reputation untained." Madame picked up her skirts slightly and sighed, rolling her eyes once more. "Vien ici, Christine. Le vicomte should be kept waiting." It was an ironic tone, and Christine giggled as she followed Madame.

Raoul's office was right next to the director's. As far as Christine was concerned, patrons did not have offices. At least, not the ones she'd seen at Ópera Populaire. As she went up the magnificent staircase, Christine felt impatient and very anxious. But she was determined to face him. Madame Giry knocked on the other. "Open, please."

"Monsieur, I brought Mademoiselle Giry as you requested." She bowed slightly as she said these words. Christine did not. It's a matter of principle, she repeated to herself. I will not bow to someone like him. Christine entered with as much dignity as she could, trying to appear relaxed and indifferent.

"Ah, but of course!"Raoul gave a forced jovial laugh. "Please, Mademoiselle, come in. I assure this meeting will not take very long. Thank you, Madame." He nodded to Madame Giry, dismissing her. Finally, she was alone with him. Raoul fixed her eyes, and she did not look away. "Christine, you look lovely as ever. Please, sit down." The vicomte's eyes were cold on her and he moved one chair in front of his desk so that would sit down. "Thank you monsieur", Christine replied. His eyes widened in surprise, for the probably didn't expect her to treat him by his title. However, he made no mention of that.

"Ahem." Christine noted he looked paler and the eyes seemed to have acquired a mischevious glint. Of course, that could be her hyperactive imagination working. "As you probably are aware, Mademoiselle Daaé" he smirked as he said this and Christine despised him the more for it. "Apparently, we have a phantom living in our grounds." There was a pause, surely for dramatic effect, and Raoul eyed her attentively. Christine kept her neutral expression and he kept going. "I have discussed this matter with the directors and we agreed that we cannot allow a blood sucker to live on our account. Ópera Populaire needs to adopt security measures most urgently. As the patron, you surely understand it is my duty to take care of the scoundrel for once and for all."

Christine felt out of breath. What exactly is he trying to say? She focused on trying to look composed. "And what exactly do I have to do with this, monsieur?" She purred in the most innocent manner, in the most uninterested way she could convey. Christine hoped he would believe her feigned attitude.

"Well, you are the one who know the opera ghost. You tell me, mademoiselle." His voice was acid, cruel. Raoul was obviously trying to unsettle her. She had to keep the façade. I can do this. I'm an actress. Christine didn't move an inch. If she did, he would be under the impression she was nervous. The make pretend was still on.

"Why monsieur, you know perfectly that I only saw him once."

Raoul started strolling around the room, lost in thought. "But he addressed you in the night of the Ball, didn't he? Not only in front of all of us, but when you and I were… conversing, he came along." If he could spill venom, Christine wouldn't be more repulsed. Jesus, Mary and Joseph. Raoul remembers him. Her heart was beating like a drum. And a very loud one, for that matter. Breathe, you can get out of this. She needed to defend herself, but this was also about protecting Erik.

"Well, you are right, monsieur. But you forget that I didn't know who he was when we asked me to dance." She smiled sweetly at him. "I only realized he was the opera ghost when he made his appearance on the staircase, if you well remember."

Thevicomte was certainly not expecting this answer. "Mais oui, mais oui. You are right, Christine." He started pacing nervously. "Anyway, André, Firmin and I thought that it would only be correct to inform you of our plans." Now he stared at her again, as if he was expecting her to say something. Christine stood silent, forcing him to continue. "First thing I can tell you is, he won't be able to escape any longer." Raoul smiled in the most disgusting triumphant way she'd ever seen. It repelled her. "The phantom's habits are well known. He always occupies Box 5, the most expensive box of the theater. Also, you are his muse. Of course he can't miss the opportunity to assist the premiere of his own opera starring you! Therefore, this is the plan: on the night of the premiere of 'Don Juan', the police will be in every corner of the opera house."

The police? Christine was now truly frightened and tried to conceal a shiver, but the shock it caused her hadn't been missed by Raoul de Chagny. "Don't worry, Christine." He grabbed her hand and she had to make a monumental effort not to take hers away. "What do you think of the plan?" he asked anxiously. "I don't know anything about those matters, monsieur. I trust you and messieurs Firmin and André to know better about what's best for the Ópera Populaire." Christine finished the sentence with a honey-dropping smile. She felt as if she could throw up on the spot. He smiled reassuringly. "He will be caught. I'll make sure of it. And then… maybe we can finally be happy again, Lotte."

Christine was jolted awake and slid her hand out of his as fast as she could. What? As Raoul had finished, Mme. Giry had knocked on the door. She breathed with relief. Good, he'll probably think I got scared by Nette.

"Monsieur, rehearsal is about to begin and Monsieur Reyer requires Mademoiselle Daaé's presence. As you must understand, the last preparations are being made for the opening night."

Raoul was certainly not expecting the interruption. He furrowed his brow. "Very well, I understand. I'll see you one of these days, Mademoiselle. Good day to you."

As soon as she was out, she started shaking uncontrollably. They will kill him. They will kill Erik. Madame Giry held her arm. "Christine dear, what is the matter? Everything is fine now, sweet child." They had reached the door of her room. "Reyer did not call on you. But he would, eventually, wouldn't he? An opera singer cannot go to rehearsal without having breakfast first can she? Go and rest for a while, I'll ask Veronique to bring you some tea and toast."

Through the rest of the day, Christine barely ate. She was growing more nervous as the hours passed and once rehearsals ended, she almost ran to her room. Her body wouldn't stop trembling. I have to tell him. I have to tell him. They can't kill him. Oh no, no, no. She sobbed uncontrollably as she opened the mirror to go throw the secret passage.

\- Erik's POV -

For the past days, Erik had grown quite pensive. He still hadn't talked to Christine and he had no idea if he should. The irrational anger towards what had happened had practically dissipated and both guilt and confusion had replaced it. Erik could not make sense of anything yet and tried not to harbor false hopes about Christine. He needed to be patient and wait, he convinced himself. However, he couldn't do so so easily. Old habits die hard, and he'd checked on Christine a couple of times. There was no denying it – she looked utterly miserable, although she appeared almost normal during rehearsal. At night, he'd seen her cry copiously, which didn't ease the feeling of guilt on his heart. In time.

In time indeed, for it had been a quite productive week besides his immense failure regarding Christine. He'd eavesdropped on the director's reunions with Raoul de Chagny, that conceited boy. They had elaborated a plan to catch the phantom. This was undoubtedly a serious matter, but Erik couldn't help but smirk with superiority about it. Let them come, I have traps that will have them all killed by the minute. He was the tenebrous phantom of the opera and Erik was prepared to live up to the reputation he had built over the years.

That morning, however, the tables had been turned. Raould de Chagny had called Christine on a meeting. Firstly, Erik had felt a pang of good old jealousy and suspicion. What could he possibly have to tell her? De Chagny had mentioned that they should warn Christine about the presence of policemen on the opening night, but Erik didn't think he needed to have called her on a private reunion. Evidently, he overheard it as well. Christine had played her part well, he decided. Feigning disregard, she had played the naïve little girl very well. But Erik knew better. She could have fooled the boy, but he could see right through her façade. Raoul was trying to attack her and she had managed to shield herself. And Erik too.

It was late afternoon and Erik was sitting on his desk, studying the opera's construction plans. Suddenly, he heard some light, hurried steps. As he stood up, Christine appeared by the other side of the division. Her hair was pinned and she was wearing a black skirt and a white silken shirt. Dashing, as she always was. Christine was panting. When she came closer, Erik noticed she was shaking tremendously. Her eyes were swollen and moist and she looked as if she was about to pass out.

"Christine…"

"Let me talk first and then you can send me away if you want." Her voice was uncommonly high and shaky. "I have something to tell you and I need you to hear it."

He nodded. Whatever it was, she was in a terrible state. Probably she hadn't been sleeping nor eating very well. And nervous as she was, Erik was afraid she could be getting sick.

Christine got closer and almost tripped with weakness and with the violence of shudders. Erik grabbed her. "You should rest, Christine. We can talk later, I prom-"

"No. I need to –" She started weeping and tears streamed down her face. "T-t-they w-will k-kill y-you. Y-you c-can't g-go t-to t-the p-premiere n-night b-because R-Raoul- a-and t-the p-police" She breathed in deeply and continued. "Y-you c-can't go! P-promise me you won't go!" Christine was almost hysterical now, and despite that the volume of her voice wouldn't increase; she was too weak and overwhelmed with tension. She tucked his shirt and sobbed against his chest. Erik didn't know what to do. He knew she'd been scared, but it had never crossed his mind that she would be this worried about him. Gently, he caressed her hair and held her as she cried. "Christine, they won't kill me." He whispered softly to her. Chocolate brown eyes found his and Christine punched his chest weakly "You c-can't go! You can't! Y-you-" Erik pulled her closer.

"In the morning we will talk about this. In the meantime you need to rest." He held a piece of her hair and looked at her. "We can talk about anything you want. Just go to sleep. You can barely stand up, Christine." He was truly worried. Swiftly, he picked her up and took her to his bedroom, where she'd already slept before. As he laid her on the bed, the grip of her arms around his neck tightened. "Don't leave me Erik." Christine whispered as she wept noiselessly. "Stay with me, please."

He lullabied her to sleep. She didn't let go of his embrace. Eventually, they both fell asleep, holding each other.


	12. The Rip Tide

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Heeey guys! I'm so sorry for not posting this earlier. I struggled a lot with this chapter (especially the beginnig) and it took me a lot more time to write it than I had expected at first. You know the rest - college got in the middle. I hope this makes up for the delay. I'll try to post more often, since I have the next chapters outlined in my head :D And thank you so much for all the reviews, they really kept me going!
> 
> Disclaimer: I don't own POTO. Sadly, as I have stated many many times.

\- Christine's POV –

Christine stirred in her sleep. So warm. And comfortable. Oh, and it smelled so good. She yawned quite loudly as she stretched her arms to the side. Her hand bumped into something and she quickly opened her eyes, suddenly afraid. The room was gloomy, one single pathetic candle still burning out. However, it gave enough light for her to remember exactly where she was.Erik. Erik was soundly asleep, his mask still in place - wasn't that uncomfortable? Thin wrinkles around the eye, mouth slightly open, a soft snore leaving his lips. His chest moved rhythmically, as he breathed. Christine tried then to move as slowly as possible, bending forwards so she could examine his sleeping face more closely. She had never seen Erik fully relaxed - considering he was ever. When was the last time he had allowed himself to wind up? Maybe he never did, the always so strict, so serious man. Unfortunately, circumstances had forced him to form quite the temper. So strong and yet so fragile. At the end of the day, he was only a powerful man who craved for love. Demanded it even, at times. But never thought he actually deserved it, did he? Behind the theatrical façade, there he was, the feared phantom of the opera, sleeping as soundly as one could. Christine was terrified for him. The plans Raoul had so mischievously revealed to her made her cringe with fear. What if they caught Erik? They would never let him go, she was sure of it. They would torture him and certainly they would… Christine couldn't even verbalize it to herself. Her throat burned with emotion. She felt quite exhausted, considering the carousel of emotions she found herself in. She realized, of course, that Erik asking (or more like it, blackmailing the opera directors) for a salary and haunting the opera house was nothing short of illegal. And he was, after all, wanted for murder… If only there was a way of convincing him not to watch Don Juan, make him believe that he was putting himself in great danger. But he was a total blockhead. Christine knew he had to have it his way. And if one thought about it, Raoul would look for him in every corner of the Ópera Populaire even if Erik didn't attend the play. With fists clenched, Christine thought of how stupid she had been for telling him about the underground lair. Even if no one believed in its existence but Raoul, policemen would undoubtedly follow his every order. And although the possibilities of finding Erik's house were quite minimal, they did exist. The traps would only hold the secret place for a limited period of time. It was her fault, all of it. Feeling tears prickling her hazel eyes, Christine slowly lowered her head and started sobbing quietly. Quite accidentally, her hair brushed his arm. "Oh, snap", she whispered involuntarily. Instantly his grip on her waist tightened and she collapsed against him, squeaking in the process. With a jolt, he let go of her and tried to sit upright. Her hair was still spread against his chest, as she rapidly tried to regain some composure by holding herself to his shoulders and lifting herself up. She managed to do so, in what she thought had been the clumsiest way possible.

"Good morning, Erik" Christine's voice was barely audible. Oh, the embarrassment filled her mind. What was she doing, sleeping next to a man she wasn't even married to? Sure, nothing - absolutely nothing - had happened, but that was not the point. And by the little she could tell, Erik's mind was racing towards the same conclusions as well. They rapidly disentangled themselves, and the phantom quickly left the room, not even bothering to look back, a faint blush on his visible cheek. "I'll be serving breakfast in a moment." The door closed with a thud, and that was all. Christine did what any girl in her circumstances would have done - she covered herself up to her head with the duvet and let shame wash over her. "I am never getting out of here. Ever, ever, ever, ever, ever…" How on earth…? She faintly remembered the previous day, but had she been thatdesperate not to let Erik go? Uuurgh. She must have behaved like a madwoman! What would Erik think of her now? Well, it didn't matter anymore, did it? Somehow, things were getting more confusing by the time and Christine seemed to have the uncanny gift to make them even more mortifying than the strictly necessary. Frustrated, she buried her head underneath the pillow and kicked the mattress at the same time. "Now not only will he think that I'm hysterical, but that I am stupid as well. Merde!" Christine now turned to lie backwards. With a dramatic gesture, she threw away the pillow towards the other side of the room and, staring blankly at the beautifully carved ceiling, declared. "Mon Dieu, such an idiot you are, Christine Daae."

"I thought I had told you - "

Christine screamed and immediately got up to see Erik leaning against the bedroom door with the usual quizzical frown on his eyebrow. Exasperated, Christine exclaimed "W-what are you doing here, E-Erik?" His frown intensified. A long pause ensued. "I did knock, Mamselle Daae." His lips curved into a half, amused smirk. Her cheeks were burning. "Breakfast is ready, Christine." Quickly, he withdrew. Christine stood appalled, sitting on the bed. Erik had just caught her in the most diva-like mood. Would the humiliation of this day ever come to an end? She got up, determined not to show (again) how mortified she felt. A quick look into the broken mirror - when had this happened? - And pinning with practice her tousled hair, after making sure her chocolate unruly curly hair didn't make her look like Carlotta's poodle, she was ready to face Erik as she would ever be.

"All right, don't make it worse. Just… don't." She mumbled to herself as she left the room. When she finally entered the dining room, the table was neatly set. Tea, milk - was that coffee? - croissants, brioche, baguettes, butter, cheese, several fruits, confitures and, best of all - hot chocolate, barely left any room for the plates and cups. But there was no sign of Erik. Where on earth had he gotten all of this? It seemed a meal more fit for the royal family than for a mere ballerina-occasionally-first-soprano. Christine considered it rude to sit and start eating without him. "Erik…?" she called out. Luckily for her and her very hungry stomach, he appeared in the passage almost instantly, looking quite alarmed.

"I apologise. I got lost on the third aria of act three… Have you been here for long?" He asked, walking across the room to push a chair for her to sit on. Always playing the perfect gentleman, she thought a little smugly. Erik carried on. "I didn't know what you felt like having this morning, so I prepared several things… eat whatever you feel like." He smiled courteously. Still feeling a little overwhelmed by the recent events, but unable to keep quiet (as per usual), Christine blurted out, unable to smile playfully. "And did you assault the queen's pantry in the meantime?" A discrete smile crept on to Erik's lips. "Well, I can't say that I did it all by myself. But a small visit to le directeur's personal kitchen quickly solves any low stocking problems I might be having. I earnestly hope you are not too shocked to eat your breakfast now." His tone quickly changed from somewhat playful to a little more serious and concerned. "I will have you know that this is not an activity in which I engage very often. Usually it is Antoinette who helps me with the household shopping and management as a favour." His crystal gaze was now directly averted at her, probably expecting Christine to comment on his illicit actions. She wouldn't let him down.

"Bien, I guess passing on their matinal chocolat can't hurt them much, can it?" Christine smile as brightly as she could. "Also, I can't make you feel bad for bringing me chocolate and croissants, can I?" As she sat down and put the napkin on her lap, she caught Erik half smirking once again. It seems I can do some things well, after all.

\- Erik's POV –

The way he'd woken up had not been the gentlest one. Once he had realised where he was - and more importantly, who he was with - he felt as if he had to leave the room to get some air in his lungs. Erik was quite surprised at himself for having been able to manage the situation in a… reasonable manner. Assuming there was one, that is. After all, he'd been sleeping next to Christine. And the thought of that made him feel quite embarrassed and smug in equal amounts. Which was absolutely despicable. However, seeing Christine's reaction had been quite fun, he couldn't deny that. Apparently, they were more alike than he had ever thought, even if she was quite more… expressive about it. Erik had been quite scared that she would be mad at him for having fallen asleep, but her quite audible (and funny) soliloquy in the room proved his assumptions wrong. It seemed she was worried about what he thought. Which was in part understandable. Christine still believed him to be mad at her. And yes, he had been mad at her rash attitudes. But they had not been selfish or done purposely to harm him, had they? There were many things that she didn't, couldn't possibly understand. In part because he refused to explain them to her. And Erik was painfully aware of that. The truth was, there was a growing interest in him from Christine which he had not expected in the least. Erik could finally believe that they were friends. And even though he had not kept from Christine the reality of his feelings towards her, he didn't want to impose himself. He hadn't the right to do so and Christine was far too young and too innocent to have her mind polluted in such a way. Erik's final decision had been not to influence her behaviour or any decisions that she might make in regards to him. But her actions had been, as always, unpredictable. And he would swear sometimes that she had developed some sort of infatuation for him. But, once again, she was young. And reckless, in many ways. Erik always kept in the back of his mind the possibility of Christine not being aware of what she wanted. Therefore, he had avoided any contact with her after the 'accident'. He had been caught off guard. If he followed Christine's lead only to have her regretting it all later was more painful than anything else he would conjure up in his head. So, evidently the solution was to do nothing about it. Even if that blockhead swedish girl kept insisting.

At breakfast, the atmosphere was not particularly light. While he sipped his coffee, Erik noticed Christine was unusually quiet. Of course, what had just happened had been quite embarrassing for both of them. But he knew that Christine, when faced with such situations, would just start rattle on about any possible topic, from the weather to the particularities of Carlotta's wigs.

"What is it?"

Alarmed, Christine almost jumped from her chair and luckily managed not to spill her hot chocolate. Keeping her gaze focused on the cup, she said softly.

"I don't want you to go up there when they come."

Oh. Erik eyed her attentively. Her hand was slightly shaking as it had been the previous day.

"You know that I have never missed any of your performances." He gently stated, trying to reassure her. Erik certainly didn't think of giving up the premiere because of a silly little fool like De Chagny.

"This is not just about you, is it?" Christine's tone was more surly now. She was censuring him. She hadn't done so when he told her he'd blatantly stole their breakfast, but she was practically scolding him for sticking with his decision. A soft curl loosened itself in front of her face. Christine sighed loudly and her hand to her forehead. "You cannot have everything your own way, Erik." Christine sounded exhausted.

"Can't I?" He couldn't hide some smugness on his part.

This time, she looked straight at him. The intensity of her glare almost made Erik shudder. "I understand you are still mad at me. I only mean for you to be safe, whether you choose to believe it or not. Just don't dodge my questions and mock me like I'm some stupid girl." Quickly, she rose from the table and turned around, fuming. Erik managed to be faster and grabbed her by the arm, pulling her closer. They couldn't be at bad terms again. God knew what it had cost him. He lowered his head as she, once again, avoided his look.

"I was not mocking you, Christine." Erik embraced her closely. "And I don't think you are stupid at all." He started playing with her loosened curl, as he felt her relax slightly against him. Good.

"I know you don't think I understand many things. But I do. And I know you were hurt about the kiss." Once again, her voice trembled. Erik couldn't help but cringe a little. "But that doesn't excuse you from not answering any of my questions directly. Or talking to me straightforwardly. Instead, you just assume I don't know what I'm talking about and simply dismiss me." Christine's tone was now steady. "Why?"

Erik jaw was unbelievably tense by now. She had managed to verbalize all he dreaded to hear. His crystal eyes pierced hers intensely. "There are many things you can't understand." He stated, as she furrowed her brows in confusion and anger. "But that's not your fault, Christine, for I have never explained them to you." Erik gulped, struggling to carry on. "You know perfectly I never hid the way I feel about… you." His heart was hammering in his chest. "You are very young and I don't think you fully understand the implications of this. I don't want to taint or corrupt you. You should be free to make the right decisions for yourself."

There it was. There was nothing more to be said. His mouth was dry and a myriad of thoughts ran wild in Erik's mind. He lowered his head, not wanting to face Christine. She deserves so much more than what I could ever offer her.

"And yet you won't even let me do it." She snapped. "No, you won't even explain it to me. And now, you are willing to give yourself to the police just to prove Raoul wrong!" The hazel eyes stared at him, no doubt waiting for some response on his part. The striking brunette sighed, growing exasperated. "I want us to talk about all of this, as you so eloquently put it. I want you to explain me all of it. I deserve as much."

Erik gulped. "You're right. Under one condition."

"What condition?" She threw a quizzical look at him.

"I'll only do so after the opening night."


	13. Of Monsters and Men

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oi oi! I know it's been a little while (longer than I intended it to be), sorry for keeping you waiting. As always, I love your supportive reviews and I wish I could find more time to write… But this time I really made an effort, in a way to celebrate my 100 followers (there's more of them now, but you see what I mean). Wrote this chapter down during Epidemiology and Public Health class, so I'm sorry in advance if there's any grammatical mistakes and things as such. Uni doesn't leave much time for revision. Hope you enjoy it!
> 
> Disclaimer: I don't own POTO. *cries in the corner of the room*

\- Christine's POV -

The premiere night was two weeks away. Only two weeks? Christine was growing nervous as she felt the date approaching. Something wasn't quite right. Not that she could put a finger on it. Apparently, everything was as calm as anyone could expect. Of course, considering that a mega police operation was being prepared diligently, people in the opera house were quite agitated. Even Madame Giry, ever so composed and cool-headed, looked ghost-like and snapped at everyone. Meg had complained several times about her mother's recent and unusual quick temper. Even Erik looked more worn-out than usual. Things between them weren't quite right yet. They had resumed the singing lessons (though they were more like second rehearsal, really). Not really known for his good humour or particularly lifted spirits, he had actually worsened as far as Christine could tell. Naturally, the perfectionist in him was coming across and Erik was as visibly tense as she had ever seen him. For someone who had repeatedly praised Monsieur Reyer as "one of the few competent people in my opera house", he was struggling daily not to rearrange several details proposed by the maestro. As for herself, Christine didn't feel as nervous as she thought she would feel by then. Sure, she wasn't calm either. At least she wasn't snapping at people, and that was pretty good for now. Instead, she tried to spend as much time as possible away from the other actors so that other people's nerves wouldn't get to her. She had to focus on her biggest challenge to date. Also, talking to Erik wasn't exactly contributing to a serene spirit, since he hadn't promised her not to attend the play. Yet, she managed not to think too much about it. If there was anything she could proudly say to have inherited from her father, it was the ability to remain calm under most intense situations. Mostly, since anything involving Erik was clearly an exception. Christine remembered how aloof he had been in the aftermath of their dramatic encounter. He seemed almost afraid to look at her, let alone talk to her with a hint of normality. She had to be extra careful no to be too pushy or make things even more uncomfortable. His discourse had surprised her - there was a moment when she truly believed he was going to shut her down, as he had previously done. Also, she was scared - a part of her brain kept asking what exactly she was doing and what consequences would befall upon her. Was there a chance Erik was right? Was Christine too young and immature to make good decisions? She didn't think so, but when did people ever think that about themselves? As a result, she tried to keep a mature posture in front of Erik, in a clumsy attempt to show him wrong. But there was an occasion (as always) when she could not help her impulsive nature. While listening to Erik infinite discourse on staccatos, Christine blurted out. "How old are you?"

Erik jolted and turned to her immediately. If he didn't look so shocked, Christine would have laughed at how comical his reaction had been. "Why would you want to know that?". She blushed and didn't answer his question right away. "Is that what you are thinking while I guide you through the play?"

"Well, you have been talking about the same things every day since Monsieur Reyer started rehearsals of the last act! And why does it surprise you that much that I'm interested in your age?"

"No.", he curtly answered.

Blatantly ignoring him, Christine continued. "So, will you tell me your age? Pleaaase?" She even batted her eyelashes for a enhanced dramatic effect.

"No", he responded dryly. "You will have to guess it."

Well, that was a new one. "Erik, you know that's hardly fair!" Christine started to pout. "You know my age, I don't see why you just won't tell me yours". Erik's gaze was on her and he half-smirked, his eyes tingling with amusement. "I am interested in tracking your thoughts on the subject. And let me warn you, should you start saying numbers randomly, you will never know - and class continues, obviously." She couldn't believe how pleased he seemed with himself. That unnerved her. Smug man, he'll see.

"Our age difference must be less than 20 years." Christine started confidently. "You are younger than and she was about 15 when she brought you here." He winced at the mentioning of the starter years as the phantom of the opera, but he had accustomed himself with the idea of her knowing this part of the story. "Nette said you couldn't possibly be older than 10 then. However…" Christine could feel his gaze on her, observing her closely. "I don't know how old she is now. I don't even know how old she was when she had Meg, but she couldn't be much older than what Meg and I are now. Anyway, I think the gap between the two of you must be a little bigger than 5 years… maybe 7 or 8, perhaps. So…if Meg and I are 19, you must be… 33? Is that it?" Christine turned to Erik and looked at him expectantly, the way a child expects candy on Christmas. Fortunately for her, his smirk dropped instantly. "34." He rumbled. "I hope you don't find it too shocking."

"Why would I? You're not very old." Now it was her time to smirk. "At least not as old as you almost made me believe you were. Seriously Erik, sometimes you speak as a 50 year-old man."

His lips pursed together. "Still, it's a considerable difference." Christine seemed to consider this for some time.

"Hmm, I wouldn't think so. Helène married a man almost as old as her father last year, if your memory serves you right. And her father must be almost 60. Mon Dieu, that's a big gap, I'd say."

"You are a very practical young woman, Christine. Surely you understand that, as one gets older, it is consistently more difficult to deal with such matters." Erik gravely declared, as he prepared to resume the lesson.

The pretty brunette sighed and as result Erik looked at her attentively. "It's strange that most girls have to marry so young. Most ballerinas leave the opera house at 15 or 16 to get married and I can't help but feel it's impossible for anyone at that age to feel ready for such a commitment. Imagine, I will soon be considered too old to marry and these girls already have toddlers to keep them busy for years to come!" She suddenly turned very serious. "I don't feel it is fair, somehow. Raoul - well, he is wealthy, of course - travelled all around Europe for 3 years or so before coming back to Paris. But of course, he is a man." Christine paused for a while, reorganising her thoughts. "I'd love to be a mother someday. But I feel I need to do other things before." They remained in silence for a while, Erik looking pensive. "I agree." He declared. "Unfortunately, women in our society are not granted the same rights as men. In most societies, actually. The Nordics are much more advances in such matters. But you are very young, I do believe you have much time to do everything you wish." He gave her a timid, encouraging smile. Christine smiled back. "I hope you are right."

\- Erik's POV -

After closely watching one of the final rehearsals of Don Juan, Erik decided to wander around the opera house. A couple of times a week, the managers usually met with the patron, Raoul De Chagny. As the resident phantom, he had to keep an eye on how Firmin and André managed Opera Populaire. Erik totally despised them. They were greedy, uncult brutes who saw in the opera house an opportunity for easy glory, money and women. Being absolutely devoid of scruples towards everyone whom they considered to be beneath them, they soon proved to lack both humbleness and politeness. You can't buy class, no matter how wealthy you are, and Erik fervently believed this. The managers knew nothing about the world of arts and showed no signs of wanting to correct that. Unlike the vicomte who, in spite of not having a gentlemanly bone in his body, really seemed interested in being involved. Erik scoffed. It was imperative that he knew more about De Chagny's plans. He felt confident he could outsmart him, if only he had access to the police orders given by the vicomte. Erik wasn't so inconsequential (or stupid, in Christine's words) as to throw himself in the middles of a room where he was a wanted man. He had, in fact, thought of several alternatives, but none of them seemed doable.

Staying under the stage was completely out of the question. It was his play and he would watch it, as his right. We wouldn't just listen like he had to when De Chagny occupied his box 5 and stole from Erik the opportunity to assist Christine's debut. Which obviously was another option ruled out. Going into the theatre mixed with other people was not viable either, as anyone with a mask would certainly get some attention. Standing on the top of the balcony would be too visible and probably the police would be all over the backstage and, most especially, the same places where he'd been at the time of Buquet's death and the interruption of Carlotta's aria in Il Muto. Mixing with dancers, perhaps? No, that would be ridiculous. Not to mention that all of the dancers would notice he wasn't one of them. That would be too risky. The only conclusion he reached was that he had to be in a place where, if found, he couldn't possibly be attacked. But where? As he considered all of the pros and cons of the different strategies, he stood behind the back wall of the vicomte's office for the last meeting before the premiere to begin.

"Well, gentlemen", De Chagny initiated. "It seems we are about to catch a phantom. Is the police device all set?"

Fondling his moustache, Firmin nodded. "Monsieur, we have spoken to the chief of the police, monsieur Gilles. Everything is ready."

Laughing quite loudly and mischievously, which startled the vicomte, André almost seemed to be drunk. "He can't escape us. We have really exceeded ourselves, haven't we?" Taking a diagram of the auditorium out of his pocket, he carried on. "We will have policemen in every entry, every box, backstage, on the corridors and even on the top balcony, where he the infamous phantom made his last appearance!"

Firmin coughed, visibly embarrassed by his partner. "Not the last one. He made quite a show of himself on the Masquerade, if you recall." André, suddenly ashamed, replied. "Yes, yes. As usual, you are quite right, my dear Firmin."

One could see the vicomte was growing impatient. "But can you assure me that the monster won't escape? That he will be put behind bars?" His voice was altered and rising, with a cold, manipulative hint to it. Calculative, as always. "Well, monsieur, we couldn't possibly have devised a better plan! Almost half of the police corps of Paris will be there and armed. Monsieur Gilles told us that himself, and swore on his very honour."

"And on the francs we are to give him too, I'm sure." Commented Firmin quite dryly.

"As you understand, gentlemen, it is my biggest concern at the moment, as the patron, that the bloodsucking man is arrested. He is a criminal and has brought nothing but disgrace on the opera's good reputation. People gossip, the staff is terrified - this needs to stop."

Firmin and André nodded in agreement. "Understandably, sir. No one understands you better than ourselves."

"Oui, oui. Our name suffers also under the phantom's shadow, you see."

"We need to break this curse, for once and for all."

What a pack of idiots, Erik thought. They really believed they could do it. He could see Raoul blankly staring through the managers, clearly waiting for them to finish their idiotic dialogue. When the old men's voices dissipated, De Chagny quickly made use of his opportunity.

"You know I didn't call you just to discuss this." A long pause ensued. "I expect you to keep your part of the deal, monsieurs."

"About the Daaé girl? I assume that is the subject your grace is referring to." The Daaé girl. Christine.

"Of course, you damn fool!" Unpredictably, the vicomte's temper exploded. "I expect nothing but excellence from your demeanour on the night of the premiere. Or the deal is off."

"I am sorry to disturb you, monsieur, but there is something I don't understand - where exactly will we be taking the girl?" André asked.

"Not we. I appreciate your concern, but I will be taking care of Mademoiselle Daaé. Your part is to make sure the phantom is caught." A cunning look was on his face. Firmin, the more astute of the two directors, intervened. "Even if it is for safety measures, wouldn't it be more reasonable to keep her in the opera? In case we need to lure him. Taking her away seems… risky."

"Have you forgotten to whom you answer to, Firmin? I don't pay you both to be questioned like a common thief. I pay you to follow commands. My commands." The vicomte was fuming, clearly furious with the previous interruption. His eyes were glazed, giving him airs of a lunatic. "If you want the thousand francs, you have to do as I say. That's all. When the ghost appears, Mademoiselle Daaé will leave the opera house, escorted by me and no one else is to leave Opera Populaire until every single corner has been searched for and the phantom caught. Have I made myself clear? By the time he is found, we will be far, far away."

Erik's heart was beating wildly and he almost turned blind with rage and panic. What had he just heard?

Christine.

\- Christine's POV -

This was it. The final lesson with Erik before the night of the premiere night was about to begin. Christine sighed discreetly. She sincerely hoped she wouldn't let Erik down. This was a great play and the young soprano was aware that the success of it was almost entirely dependent on her. And of Erik managing not to get caught, obviously. Clearly, the managers of the Opera Populaire wanted this to be a memorable night for all of the wrong reasons, as far as Christine was concerned. While her mind mused on these subjects, she noticed Erik's study was untidier than usual. Well, not untidy, for that was an understatement. It was an utter mess. Papers were scattered around on the desk and on the floor, candles and statues had been thrown to the ground unceremoniously. Even the pianoforte had music sheets spread all over and even ink had blotted them. It looked as if someone had raged in and frantically thrown away everything they could. For Christine it was quite clear that something must have happened to distress Erik. And from the looks of it, it had to be very serious.

Swiftly, Erik appeared, grave-looking and threw back the curtain that served as a door to the passage with unnecessary strength. He moved like a panther, and if Christine hadn't noticed his piercing look on her upon his entrance, she would have sworn he hadn't even acknowledge her presence. The dark, tall figure was fuming, anger visible in his face. Christine felt more tense by the second. What on earth could have happened? Whatever that was, she was not going to take on his bad mood. She decided not to say a thing until Erik stopped ignoring her. Christine stood against one of the walls, arms crossed, waiting impatiently.

Erik stopped pacing and looked right through her, sending a powerful shiver down her spine. This time, he no longer looked angry. All of his features resembled a beast ready to attack his prey. It was as though he didn't want to miss any of her movements. As quickly, as it came, the predatory look disappeared. The shifts in his behaviour were making Christine feel very, very uncomfortable. This was most unusual. Then, we looked at his scraped notes. Nervousness, she realised. For some time, he stood in the same place, practically not moving. Once more he faced her and growled lowly. "We need to talk.".

Now, his evasiveness was really getting to her nerves. Why couldn't he just say it instead of playing her like this? Because he's Erik, that's why. "Impossible", she scoffed. That earned her an icy glare from Erik, who started walking at a heavy pace towards her. "This is serious, Christine." He said it so gravely that Christine's face immediately dropped. Erik continued, his voice low and tense. "I overheard this morning's meeting between De Chagny and the managers. More specifically, the security plans arranged with the police corps."

She snapped. "And did you get some sense into that thick head of yours?", was her bitter reply. Erik breathed in deeply, clearly struggling with the answer and probably with the fact that he wasn't accustomed to be talked to like that.

"I'm afraid I didn't." Erik sounded almost… defeated. Oh? Christine looked at him, confused. He proceeded.

"I found that I may be the police's target.. But I'm not the vicomte's." His gaze rested on her intently as he moved closer. "You are."

"T-the vicomte's?" Christine was positively puzzled by now.

His eyes never left hers as he approached, the intensity of his stare almost painful. "The vicomte is using my presence as a diversion."

"I… I don't understand." Christine said under her breath, pleadingly. A diversion for what?

"De Chagny will take you away from the stage while the police searches for the infamous opera ghost all over Opera Populaire."

Christine's heart raced. No, no, no. Guilt washed over her. "I told him about the catacombs." She whispered, shivering. Erik got even closer and she felt his warm dark presence even at the distance.

"I don't think you have understood it yet." There was a hint of humour in the way he'd said it, but his expression remained impassible. "He is taking you away."

"How so?" Christine almost jumped at how indignant she felt. This time, he pulled her against him, making Christine feel almost dizzy. This was nothing like him. Now it was his turn to snap. "He will be taking you. Kidnapping you. No one is to leave Opera Populaire but you and him." The tone was getting hoarser and the grip on her tighter, though it didn't hurt her. "Those are the orders he gave Firmin and Andre in exchange for a thousand francs."

Christine didn't know what to say. Or think, for that matter. She was baffled by all the information Erik had provided her. And terrified as well. She knew (or more accurately, she had found out after several unpleasant encounters) Raoul was a despicable, mean man. He had practically stalked her during the last few months. But it had never crossed her mind the possibility of the vicomte taking things to such a level. He had been determined, but obsessed? All she knew was that she didn't want to be or go with him anywhere. How could she possibly be safe around him after everything that had transpired between them? The answer was simple enough - she wouldn't. Raoul was manipulative, cunning and violent. No scruples. And he was after her.

"Is there anything I can do?" Christine clung to Erik desperately.

"I can beat them at their own game." Erik declared. That meant he did have a plan. But how? How could they possibly dodge the police, the managers and Raoul? "I just need you to do your best tomorrow. Leave the rest to me." He leaned over and their foreheads touched. She could feel him trembling slightly, as scared as she was. Christine closed her eyes, feeling his arms snaking around her waist.

"Do you trust me?" He asked huskily. She opened her eyes and felt the crystal green orbs has intense has she'd never seen them before.

"Yes."


	14. Don Juan

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello there :) yes, I am back. Inspiration struck me this week, and I figured I should share it with you. This chapter has not been revised, so any mistakes you find, please report! And unlike other chapters, this is all Christine POV. As always, I hope you like it - and please, please review :)
> 
> Disclaimer: Don't. Own. POTO.

\- Christine's POV -

This was it. The time had come, and much too fast as Christine was concerned. She had barely even slept, after Erik brought her back to her room. What he had told her had shaken Christine to the bone, and she was still struggling with the reality of Raoul's true character. It hadn't dawned on her just yet, though she knew perfectly well the vimconte could be quite a sordid man. But the worst of it all was what he would do once he had Christine in his grasp. If he did, of course. Fortunately she could count on Erik to protect her, eventhough he had not unveiled his plan to her. And that was probably what made her so nervous. Christine didn't know if she could handle it all together. The worst of it was that she was expected to act naturally with all of this happening at the same time. Maddening. And she felt quite on the verge of madness herself. Would Erik make it? That was the question buzzing in her mind. As she looked herself in the mirror before heading backstage, Mme. Giry knocked on the door and entered uncerimouniously. "Oh, my dear." The older woman started composing her large curls and adjusting her pins. "I'm sure you are going to be flawless. As ever." Christine noticed a discrete sigh and turned around.

"What is it, Nette?" Mme. Giry looked pale and tired, something rather unusual in her. "Just be careful, Christine. The vimconte is waiting to talk to you outside." She stopped, a sourful look crossing her features. "I don't trust him."

Neither do I. Christine gave Antoinette a little loving embrace, rubbing her arm as they parted. "It's going to be alright. They can't possibly ouwit him, you know that." Christine said in a humorous tone. That seemed to work, for Mme. Giry giggled a little and her face lightened up. "I hope you are right, my dear." She sounded scared and tears glistened in her eyes. Christine completely understood her. For many, Erik might be a freak, a nature aberration. But not for the two of them, at least. She cherished Erik more than most people in the world, and she was certain Mme. Giry did too. Unfortunately, he was a product of human ignorance and cruelty, and the entirety of his life had been shaped by it - society had shuned him. However, for someone who had known so many adversities, he had turned quite well. He wasn't devoid of emotion, as everyone thought. Erik was by far the most intense person she had ever met. It was a shame that a man who lived so passionately had to stay away from where all of the action was. Not that he truly did, of course. Casting his shadow around Ópera Populaire was just a way of making his presence noticed. Much too noticed, it seemed. Christine gulped and smiled weakly at Mme. Giry. She really hoped things would turn alright, eventhough she had no idea as to how that would be possible. But she had to occupy her thoughts with other things, especially now that Raoul was outside meaning to talk to her. Also, Christine had an opera to star. And she was determined to exceed in it.

"Very well, then. It's almost time." Mme. Giry smiled a little towards her, a rare gesture. "Good luck."

Indeed, Christine thought as Nette left the room and nodded in appreciation for the wise woman's kind words. If only she didn't have to talk to Raoul before heading to stage, things would be a little bit easier. Being fully aware of his plans, she felt utterly repulsed by the vimconte, which made it more difficult to act according to plan. But it had to be done, didn't it? Not only for herself, but for Erik as well, Raoul couldn't suspect a thing. She stared at the mirror and saw the vimconte walking in, a dashing bouquet of pink roses in his hand and a overly friendly smile in his face.

"Good night, Christine. I thought you might like these." And he put them on a table that stood nearby. Trying to conceal her disgust, Christine straightened the skirts of her dress and then obligingly anwerered. "Why, thank you vimconte." She immediately noticed Raoul didn't like her formal treatment and his mouth twitched a little before carrying on. "Mademoiselle," he said in an affected tone. "I came here to assure you no harm will come to you tonight. The police device was very carefully planned and if necessary the perfomance shall be interrupted to keep you safe." He thinks I'm an idiot. Christine was getting angry. The vimconte was making a fool of herself, still acting as if she was a blind child needing guidance. Which she wasn't. She turned around to face him. "Really? Is that why you are using me as bait to catch the opera ghost? Because my safety is of most importance?" Her voice was low but aggressive, conveeying all the hatred she had for this… man.

And Raoul was certainly not expecting this reaction from her. His features hardened, not liking to be confronted in the open like this. He cleared his throat, in the futile attempt of regaining composture. Of course he didn't interpret her reaction as one of anger towards him specifically, but as one of fear. "Christine, you know I would never do anything to hurt you… But it's the only way. If that monster found out that you would not be acting, we might never have the chance to catch him." Feigning hurt, he continued. "If I think you find yourself in danger, throughout the play, I will personally escort you from the backstage to somewhere safe." The bastard. This was the confirmation of what Erik had told her. Not that she doubted him, but seeing Raoul acting like that just made her realise how serious he really was about escorting her to somewhere safe, wherever that might be. And fear struck Christine. If he decided to take her away now, he could perfectly do so and no one would bat an eye. And he would do so if he decided that she was too scared to be performing. So right now, she had to find her way to stage as soon as possible and try not to provoke him. "Thank you, but I think that will hardly be necessary." Chritstine smiled sweetly at the cocky blond man, who seemed confused. "Seeing police in every corner of the opera house surely would have scared him by now, no? Anyways, I have to be by the stage in just about a minute, monsieur. Monsier Reyer is very strict in these matters." Properly stunned by what he had just heard, Raoul took a while to realise that it was time to take his leave. "Mais oui, of course!" He tried to laugh tension off. "I will not hold you any further, Mademoiselle. I will see you after the performance then, if the phantom stays in his lair, as you suggested." Raoul left swiflty, but not before throwing her a cold glare. If that had been because of her nonchalant dismissal, Christine couldn't tell. Feeling exhausted, she sighed. This was just the beginning of quite a night. All eyes would be on her, and some of them not for the best of reasons. But she didn't have to think about that now. She had to focus on her task. Doing my best.

Things were going smoothly, as far as Christine could tell. The audience seemed engaged, though a little shocked. But they were avid for more. No one had been able to take eyes off stage. That reaction could be due to two things - because everyone knew the play had been written by Le Fantôme de l'Ópera or Don Juan was nothing like anything seen before. Probably both, she mused. Christine remembered how impressed Monsieur Reyer had been after the first reading of the play. From beginning to end the music was seductive, bewitching… and it's intensity augmented as the final aria approached. It was absolutely intoxicating. And what impressed her the most was how Erik-esque it was. His presence could be clearly felt in every line, every compass. This was no ordinary opera, of that she was sure. And everyone in Ópera Populaire seemed to agree to this, which made her feel incredibly proud of Erik. And now here she was, presenting his masterpiece to all of Paris.

So far, nothing had happened. That is, nothing of importance. Of course Piangi had arrived late and Carlotta had made quite a scandal in the backstage, but everyone was accostumed to that. Of Erik, she didn't know. All of the dancers and actors also seemed to be thinking about his iminent appearance, which didn't soothe her poor wrecking nerves. Where is he? Christine kept asking herself. The last aria was about to begin and still no signs of the phantom. Or Piangi, again. How come a professional actor, male counterpart disappeared after every single act? What had he to do of more importance, seriously? The police would do better to control Piangi's entrances and exits than the phantom's. It would be much more useful, for sure.

Here the sire may serve the dam, here the master takes his meat! Here the sacrificial lamb utters one despairing bleat!

Poor young maiden! For the thrill

on your tongue of stolen sweets

you will have to pay the bill -

tangled in the winding sheets!

Serve the meal and serve the maid!

Serve the master so that, when

tables, plans and maids are laid,

Don Juan triumphs once again!

Anyway, now the aria had begun and Christine had to prepare mentally for the smouldering scene she would be sharing with Piangi. Urghh, she could do well without that old man holding her or touching her. Why Erik had written that for, she wouldn't know. Maybe to torture her. Yes, he had been mad at her when writing the play. Surely he thought that was the best way of punishing her or obtaining revenge, putting her so close to a horrid man such as Piangi.

And just like that, Piangi showed up.

Passarino, faithful friend,

once again recite the plan.

Your young guest believes I'm you -

I, the master, you, the man.

When you met you wore my cloak,

with my scarf you hid your face.

She believes she dines with me,

in her master's borrowed place!

Furtively, we'll scoff and quaff,

stealing what, in truth, is mine.

When it's late and modesty s

tarts to mellow, with the wine . . .

You come home! I use your voice -

slam the door like crack of doom!

I shall say: "come - hide with me!

Where, oh, where? Of course - my room!"

Poor thing hasn't got a chance!

Here's my hat, my cloak and sword.

Conquest is assured,

if I do not forget myself and laugh . . .

They retreated, going backstage. Christine made her ways towards the stage, her heart hammering in her head. If there was any part she would want Erik to watch, this was it. It was by far one of the most complicated arias she had ever had to sing. A most controversial scene too, the pinnacle of the entire play. And she was ready for it. As she walked on stage, all eyes were on her. Although this should be a familiar feeling by now, Christine always felt too observed, too looked at. Maybe she wasn't an animal of the stage after all. She loved to sing, yes. But she felt very exposed, especially at this particular moment.

. . . no thoughts

within her head,

but thoughts of joy!

No dreams within

her heart

but dreams of love!

This was nothing like any other previous performances. She could feel Raoul's anxious look on her and she saw policemen everywhere accross the room. Anything could happen. The whole room seemed to breathe tension and. unlike any other play in Ópera Populaire, not a sound could be heard from the audience. Christine gulped.

Passarino - go away!

For the trap is set and waits for its prey . . .

Goosebumps formed all over her skin. This voice…

You have come here

in pursuit of your deepest urge,

in pursuit of that wish,

which till now has been silent,

silent . . .

Christine slowly turned around only to confirm her suspicions. Erik was Don Juan, materialized in front of her. How?

I have brought you,

that our passions may fuse and merge -

in your mind you've already

succumbed to me

dropped all defences

completely succumbed to me -

now you are here with me:

no second thoughts,

you've decided,

decided . . .

His voice was, indeed, intoxicating - like a purr. Christine had never heard him singing it himself, but it was incredibly alluring. No wonder, it wouldn't be so difficult to play Aminta if he kept singing and acting like that. Erik was, in a word, dashing. And wow, that mask suited him too well. In his element, he was truly bringing his character to life and acting like Aminta didn't feel so out of character now… or unpleasant, for that matter. But she had to get a grip - his icy glances at least indicated that.

Past the point of no return -

no backward glances:

the games we've played

till now are at an end . . .

Past all thought of "if" or "when" -

no use resisting:

abandon thought,

and let the dream descend . . .

What raging fire shall flood the soul?

What rich desire unlocks its door?

What sweet seduction lies

before us . . .?

Now, what exactly had been that? He had practically glued himself to her and was becoming quite the stage animal. Truly, he moved like a panther ready to attack its prey. And Christine could perfectly see how much he was enjoying this, showing it off to the vimconte and all - who, by the way, stood in box 5, mouth opened in shock. But when Erik looked at her, that was when Christine's breath was taken away. She felt trapped, truly. There was something in his glance, something that not even the best of actors could pretend. Passion.

Past the point of no return,

the final threshold -

what warm, unspoken secrets

will we learn?

Beyond the point of no return . . .

Christine's breath had quickened absurdly and almost regretted that he had to step away. Blushing furiously, she gulped. She could perfectly pretend to be at a loss. In fact, it wasn't even pretending. Christine felt as though things were spinning out of control. What was Erik doing? Enfuriating Raoul wasn't a great plan, as far as she could see. The vimconte kept looking furiously in their direction, motioning his head and giving, no doubt, orders to the policeman that stood behind him. Which made her shiver with fear. She remembered his threats very well.

You have brought me

to that moment

where words run dry,

to that moment

where speech

disappears

into silence,

silence . . .

I have come here,

hardly knowing

the reason why . . .

In my mind,

I've already

imagined our

bodies entwining

defenceless and silent -

and now I am

here with you:

no second thoughts,

I've decided, decided . . .

She couldn't help but blush even more as she sang. For someone who was supposed to be naïve, Aminta had quite the vocabulary. And to know that the original lyrics had been written by Erik with her in mind did not help at all, specially considering Christine was right in front of him. The play was nothing but a make-believe, she concluded by the way Erik's face wouldn't hide the astonishment and pleasure of hearing those words from her - and let's not forget, in front of Raoul. He looked rather smug and ocasionally half-smirked, his eyes as intense as ever on her. As a shiver went down her spine, Christine remembered something Mme. Giry had said about him once, of how the opera had become his playground. Nothing more could be representative of that, could it? He was playing everyone in the act. Everyone was exactly where he wanted them to be. Even Christine was playing out the role that had taken shape from his fantasies. But was he manipulating her just for personal satisfaction? A powerful weapon in the vendetta against Raoul?

Past the point

of no return -

no going back now:

our passion-play

has now, at last,

begun . . .

Past all thought

of right or wrong -

one final question:

how long should we

two wait, before

we're one . . .?

When will the blood

begin to race

the sleeping bud

burst into bloom?

When will the flames,

at last, consume

us . . .?

Christine had just exceeded herself. Somehow irritated with a newfound perspective on Erik's intentions, she had shamelessly seduced Erik on stage and her voice had been seemed flawless through the aria.Two can play this game. Now it was her time to smirk. Erik almost lost his coolness, and stood agape. His eyes were practically flashing with a mix of fascination and anger, and for a moment she didn't care a bit. Though she felt Erik was the one to had the last say, as he moved feline-like towards her. She was also being seduced. Payback was truly a bitch, hein?

Past the point

of no return

the final threshold -

the bridge is crossed,

so stand and watch

it burn . . .

We've passed

the point of no

return . . .

He was holding her and time seemed to have stopped for a while. Christine had her eyes closed and could feel Erik's heavy breathing. Slowly, Erik started fondling her her hair. His hands were unexpectedly warm. They still had a few seconds before the act was over, it dawned on her. He must have thought the same thing, for Erik's deep voice resounded in her ears, very low. "Do you trust me, Christine?" It was deep, rich. Pleading, almost. A replay of what had happened the night before.

Quickly, her eyes shot open. She moved her hands up to meet his and slowly turned around to face him. This was no time for playing games. Not now.

"Once again…" Christine interwined her fingers in his. Their gazes locked. "Yes."

All she had time to see was Erik's half smile as a trap door opened beneath them as they fell, together.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Had you actually seen that coming? 8D Please review! I'll try to update as soon as possible :3


	15. Bis

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello there! I hope you had a lovely Christmas and I wish you all the best for 2015 :D now, this chapter is a little shorter than usual and I must say it didn't quite go the way I planned... although I have to mention that I'm far more excited about the upcoming ones. Now, for the chapter!
> 
> Disclaimer: I do not own POTO.

\- Christine's POV -

Next thing she knew, they were running through passages she'd never seen. Up there, one could hear guns firing, women crying and a deafening crashing sound. Erik was practically taking her in his arms and she couldn't help but shiver with adrenaline and fear. Her mind kept playing the previous moments and somehow she couldn't bring herself to focus on what had just happened. Christine could hear her heart hammering in her chest, her mouth dry and legs wouldn't stop trembling. The path they were going was exceedingly intricate, and Erik was always changing direction, making it more difficult to know where exactly they were headed. Suddenly, they stopped and Christine would have tripped if it hadn't been for Erik's steady grip on her. Somehow, they had reached the catacombs.

She jolted with the realization. Erik was looking at her, panting visibly.

"I am deeply sorry for all of this."

Christine must have looked completely, at least, for he held her hands reassuringly.

"The only way I could take you safely was this. The vimconte wouldn't tell his men to fire if that put you and the assistance in immediate danger. The only way was to kidnap you before he got the chance." He lowered his head, avoiding her gaze. "I didn't mean to use you as a shield, Christine."

She brought her hand to Erik's face. He was still wearing the Don Juan mask, which made it a little odd looking at him. She could see that his right cheek had a strip of marred skin. It was hardly noticeable, unless one stood very closely to Erik. He cringed a little at the contact, probably not expecting it.

"He most certainly didn't expect you to put yourself in the middle of the stage, in plain sight for everyone. I don't think anyone did." Christine couldn't help but smile a little bit at him. Clearly, he had managed to outsmart them all. Which shouldn't be that much of a surprise, really. Erik kept looking at her, as if waiting for something.

"Although there is something I'm rather curious about - how did you get through the backstage?"

Sensing the wonder in her voice, Erik's posture changed almost immediately and his voice grew more confident.

"People were rather distracted - the presence of a ghost does such things. I don't think anyone noticed me until I replaced Piangi." In a second, the typical smug look was on his face. He had always taken great pride in his concealment acts.

But Christine had more important things to think about. "How did you do it?" She asked in a whisper.

"I might have…" The phantom spoke slowly, as if measuring words. "Knocked him out unconscious. Worry not, he will live." He looked slightly worried.

Christine felt her eyes widening with the piece of information. Well, at least he hadn't hurt him… much. How strong was Erik, anyway?

"Christine… we can't stay here." His worried glance was upon her. "I wish we could do this differently, but the truth is… you can't stay in Paris. Not tonight anyway." He spoke calmly, but preoccupation was present in every other aspect of his demeanour. "Even with all of the traps, there's a chance the vimconte or the police will make it here. And even if I were to take you to Antoinette's, that would undoubtedly be the first place they would search." Erik was referring to the house owned by Madame Giry's deceased husband, where the couple had lived peacefully until Monsieur Giry sudden death. Back then, Madame had been forced to make a living for herself and her baby daughter by teaching the corps de ballet. Still, and despite not living there anymore, she still paid every month's rent - an unusual act of sentimentalism from a woman who even seldom smiled.

But Erik was right. They had to flee as fast as possible. "Where are we going, Erik?"

"I can't tell you where. At least right now." He was serious, and the tone as grave as it had ever been. "Once more, I will ask for you to blindly trust me. Everything is ready. I have a carriage awaiting us. But you must change and pin your hair first, to raise as little suspicion as possible. We must be discrete."

\- Erik's POV -

Everything was set. As he finished arranging a few papers he deemed necessary in the future, Christine had quickly changed into a grey plain dress. She looked tense, which wasn't so surprising. He felt sorry for her. Erik hadn't intended for things to go like this, neither did he want to take her away from Paris under these circumstances. Yes, she had agreed to come with him. And Erik would make sure no harm would befall her. He hadn't wanted this for her - once they left, Raoul de Chagny would look for her everywhere and while Erik could easily hide in the shadows, such was not the case with Christine Daaé. After all, she was a first soprano in the finest opera house in Paris. She had hundreds of admirers and people could easily recognize her. That was definitely a problem, but Erik knew where to take her safely and anonymously. It implied revealing more of himself than he would have like to right now, but it was necessary to protect Christine at all costs.

A splashing was heard and Christine gasped softly. "What was this?" She asked in a murmur, almost inaudible. Erik had no time to lose. Someone had made it through the traps. As he turned around to see who it was, an icy voice echoed through the cave.

"Did you think that you would get away that easily?"

It was the vimconte, completely drenched and gasping for air. One thing was certain - he was certainly a strong, obstinate man. It was practically impossible to go through the lake trap, Erik had made himself sure of that. Despite despising de Chagny with every fibre of his being, he couldn't help but admire his tenacity. However, the nobleman must be exhausted, which worked in his favour. Erik eyed him, intrigued.

"I came here to release Christine, you beast!"

Well, well. Playing the saviour, were we? De Chagny took his sabre out of the belt and walked quickly towards Erik. Christine, who was behind him, gasped in horror.

"NO!"

The pretty girl had put herself between the two of them. Erik's heart thumped. What was she doing, putting herself in danger like this? Raoul looked at her, bewildered. Before the vimconte would do anything, Erik pulled her strongly and escaped Raoul's weapon deathblow closely, having cut his chemise and right arm. This got Erik instincts going strong. On top of the organ, there was his own sabre, which he had meant to take as a measure of precaution. Fortunately, he managed to grab it and so the duel began. From the corner of the eye, he managed to see Christine in the back, doe-eyed behind the red velvet curtain that hang before the main corridor. At least she was safe. Now that he felt to be on hold of the situation, Erik struck back in force. Years of being cast aside along with extreme poverty had not only improved his burglary, almost phantom-like skills, but also the ability to fight. The time he had spent in Persia and through the rest of Europe and Asia had enabled him to learn several different dueling techniques and master several kinds of weaponry, among other things. Erik refused to lose to an unworthy adversary such as the vimconte.

The duel was brief. De Chagny was already tired out, so it didn't take long for Erik to make him stumble on his feet and fall. With a swift movement, his sabre unarmed Raoul and Erik put the blade against the vimcontes' neck. If he wanted to, he could kill him now. All of this would end. Christine Daaé would be safe again.

"No, Erik! Not like this." Christine's desperate tone echoed across the catacombs. She had come closer.

Erik quickly woke from his dark slumber and relaxed a bit.

"Erik?" The boy was in shock. "You knew him all along? You're friends with this… deformed creature?" The vimconte asked, clearly disgusted with what he was witnessing. Erik's short temper flared.

"Monsieur De Chagny would do so well as to not to break into other people's houses." Erik grimly declared without losing his grip on the sabre. Raoul inhaled sharply. "Trust me, it would be my biggest pleasure to kill you instantly." He put the blade just under the vimcontes' chin and with the sword slowly pulled it up, so that he would look De Chagny straight in the eyes. Raoul gulped. "Next time I won't be so merciful." Quickly, he grabbed Raoul by the collar, pushed him once again against the ground and with deft, precise movements, proceeded to tie both hands together behind his back, and both feet. Even squirming, the vimconte wasn't a match in strength for Erik, who was driven by anger. He grabbed a piece of cloth, ripped from his own shirt and put it in De Chagny's mouth. Christine watched closely without saying a word. Finally, Erik clicked his tongue and pushed the vimconte along one of the dark corridors that led to his chambers. Joe, the dark horse that many times had transported Christine in and out of the catacombs and through the grim corridors of the opera's underground, soon arrived. Once more, Erik tied the vimconte the Chagny to the animal's dorso carefully, so as not to hurt Joe. He clicked his tongue again, and the horse left, bringing Raoul along with him, still squirming and trying to speak, to no avail. Erik couldn't help but smirk a bit at the comical sight. When he turned his back on them, he was confronted with the sight of Christine, who was looking intently at the lake.

"Thank you." The petite woman whispered.

Erik growled, slightly hurt by her remark. "Contrary to what everybody hints at, I am not a cold-blooded murderer."

"I didn't mean any of that." Finally, she looked at him. Her chocolate eyes were puffy and red, and a trail of tears could still be perceived on her soft cheeks. Hurt gave way to guilt. What had just happened couldn't have possibly been easy on her either.

"Is Joe taking Raoul up there?"

"He's trained, as you know." He walked towards the improvised study, eager to leave.

Christine nodded and then gasped. "Your arm! You're hurt, Erik-"

Erik interrupted her briskly. "It's nothing too serious, Christine."

She looked hurt, once again. He wasn't starting this off right, was he? Trying to make up for the hard tone, Erik tried to soothe Christine by talking softly and turning himself to her. He caressed her face with his calloused hand, a rare intimate gesture from the mighty phantom. "We need to leave right now. I will take a look at it once we get on the carriage."

Christine's eyes grew wide and a surprised look crossed her visage.

"A carriage?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Interpret this as a necessary filler! If you find fault with anything in the storyline, please do tell! I wish I was far better in descriptions, I swear... And anyway, probably I won't be able to upload very soon, since the age of finals has come. But it will be up as soon as I can, promise!
> 
> As usual, your reviews keep me going and improving! :3


	16. Arrival

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am so, so sorry. I have been trying to write this chapter as fast as I could, but finals and these chaotic times really kept me for updating this. Once again, thank you so much for your amazing and incredibly supportive reviews. It's amazing how I keep getting more followers and SWM is still favourited by some people :)
> 
> This chapter hasn't been appropriately revised (as the other one). I really wish I could be a true perfectionist, but once I have the draft all I want to do is to write it down on the computer and send it away for you lovely people to read. As we are reaching a different part of the story, I am still trying to figure out the dynamics of it, but I'll try to make it as interesting as I can.

\- Christine's POV-

A carriage alright. She could still hear her heart hammering in her chest. She was breathing soundly, almost panting, even though they had left the center of Paris for quite some time. After leaving Raoul wandering around the catacombs, Erik had led her through another unknown path hidden behind the mirror and velvet curtains. It was dark and humid, just like most of the undergrounds of the opera house. Christine had no idea where Erik was taking her, but she remained calm. Swiftly, the masked man walked in front of her, their hands clasped together. Christine couldn't help shivering. Things were happening at a much too fast pace, and she couldn't make up anything about the situation at hand. She felt dizzy, and it felt as though a weight was settling on her chest. It was oppressive, and it was harder for her to breathe. Screams above could still be heard. Policemen were whistling like mad and undoubtedly keeping the room from being evacuated, as the vimconte had intended. But the crash she had heard previously, what could it have been? Anxiety was crawling under her skin.

The couple made it through a door, and exited right by a small door located on the east side of the building. Both of them had dark, heavy cloaks on. A very small gypsy caravan was just by it. There was a middle-aged man – a gypsy, certainly – leaning against a wall, just a few steps away. Erik opened the wagon door for Christine to enter and almost imperceptibly nodded at the man. "Le Cirque Incredible", she could read that from the seaming yellow letters. Erik made a sign for her to enter, following her right after. There were small benches for them to sit on. A sleeping family was inside the wagon. Children were laid out to sleep against one of the walls. A woman – probably the mother, was sitting on the corner nursing a baby. Her eyes didn't leave them the entire time. The caravan seemed to move for only a few minutes before it stopped. The gypsy man opened the door and Erik left, handing him a velvet bag which Christine assumed could only be some sort of payment for the transportation. "For your troubles", she heard the phantom say. He then helped Christine out of the gypsy cart. They were in a not very friendly-looking neighbourhood, she could tell that. One could hear the laughter and roaring coming out of the taverns and whorehouses. The smell was abominable and she could swear she could hear rats screeching. Together, they walked silently in the night and entered one of the narrowest, deserted streets. The noise from the drunken men could scarcely be heard now. There was a carriage, this time a proper one. Once again Erik nodded at the coachman, this time an old man, and opened the door for her.

Christine just wanted to cry. The carriage rode one. Christine felt a lump on her throat. It was finally dawning on her all that had happened in this seemingly life-changing evening. She was leaving the city she had known and lived in for most of her life, leaving her second family and her home behind – towards what? She didn't know what was going to happen from now on. Where was she going? Would she ever come back? This was massive uncertainty. Christine trusted Erik with all her heart, and she knew he would always keep her safe as long as he could. He would fight anyone who dared to come close. But… what if they were caught? Now, that was a strong possibility, since Raoul was willing to blackmail all the corps de police to track them down. And there would be just so much Erik could do if they should find themselves under such conditions. Christine could only pray that Erik's plan didn't include shunning them from the world. He was acting so taciturn, so unlike what he had been like for the past few months. Christine sighed and tried to peep through the curtains of the carriage window. The moon wasn't shinning tonight. Probably it is for the best.

"Don't try to look out. Someone might see you." For the first time since they had left Ópera Populaire, Erik spoke to her. He sounded tired and was slightly bent over in the seat. Christine turned herself to face him.

"How is your arm?"

Erik held her gaze and twitched his mouth a little. He was wearing his porcelain mask, which suited him better, she thought. Christine felt her cheeks heating up.

"I'll live. You don't need to worry yourself over that, Christine."

She smiled at him, apprehensive. Silence settled in. It felt like a dream, as the carriage moved along the rocky road. One could not hear a sound. Christine sighed deeply.

"We will arrive soon, Christine."

She couldn't bring herself to relax. If anything, Christine was growing tense by the minute. Everything was clouded in mystery, and not even Erik's soothing tone would wind her down. In fact, he looked quite calm, which annoyed her the more.

Christine crossed her arms. It was chilly and she was cold, very cold.

"You should rest a little, Christine." Erik slowly brought his hand to hers and held it reassuringly. Warmth spread through her and she instantly felt a little better. But she was also sulky and wouldn't give in easily. Christine was quite stubborn when she wanted to and right now her nerves were snapping with exhaustion, fear and anxiety. And she couldn't possibly sleep at a time like this. She stirred in her seat.

"How would I do that?" she almost whispered, gravely. Christine knew Erik could hear her. He squeezed her hand. She couldn't outline him, as it was incredibly dark. Only his porcelain white mask would gleam occasionally, which he turned now to her.

"We are taking the outer ways, and as such, we will take more time. Were we casually passing by, it would only take us a couple of hours to get there."

Only two hours? So they weren't getting out of the country? She wouldn't ask him where they were headed, since it was for her interest not to know, in case they were intercepted by the police.

"I can't sleep. Not now anyway, Erik."

He moved closer to her. All she could hear was ruffling and suddenly, a warm weight was upon her shoulder. His coat? Christine shivered with delight and a pang of guilt hit her.

"Won't you need this? I shouldn't take your coat like that."

Erik sighed. "You didn't take it, I offered it to you, didn't I? We should have brought warmer clothes, but De Chagny cut our time short."

"Yes."

A long pause ensued.

"Anyway, we will be able to rest and talk about everything once we get there. I am so sorry, Christine."

She looked at him. Christine could faintly outline his profile, the ever serious brow. A weak smile formed on her lips and she slowly bent her head on his shoulder. Whatever the outcome, they were in this together. It was of no use trying to get this back at him. Erik had helped, and possibly had saved her life as well, shielding her away from Raoul. He was doing his best, and so should she. Erik put his hand down her hair gently

The carriage stopped and Christine woke with a jolt and felt dizzy. She blinked her eyes several times. A faint, dim light entered the carriage through the windowpane. Next to her, Erik slowly stirred.

"Are you awake?"

She almost jumped out of her skin. Christine brought her hand to her forehead, which was throbbing with pain out of being awakened so suddenly. Erik was looking at her with preoccupation.

"Yes, yes. Have we arrived yet?"

Erik nodded.

Quite unexpectedly, the door opened and a stern-looking man appeared.

"Quick, quick, quick." He said, urging Erik on. He looked at her and gave her a tranquilizing nod. Erik left the carriage first and Christine followed suit. As she looked around, Christine could spot an immense garden and a house which she deemed fit for nobility. Whatever she had expected, this was not it. Of course she couldn't stare for too long, as the mysterious man practically pulled her to one of the lateral entries of the house. There, they were in the servant's hall – she assumed. Once they found themselves in the midst of a species of parlor, the man quickly turned to Erik and hugged him.

"Erik, my fellow! Finally, you are here. I trust your journey was calm and François took you by the outer road."

Visibly tired, but clearly satisfied, Erik declared "Yes, everything went according to plan. May I introduce you to Mademoiselle Christine Daaé?"

The man looked at her with an inquisitive eye, studying her attentively. He bowed a little to her, and she bowed back. "Oh my dear", the man said solemnly. "I am much too happy to meet you at last. Should you ever need me, I am Daroga – at your service." He was slightly shorter than Erik, had a darker complexion and small bright dark eyes. Christine decided she liked him. "But for now, you must be exhausted, no? Should I tell Mina to take her upstairs?"

No, she wouldn't go anywhere. Not at least until she knew exactly where she was.

"Nice to meet you, monsieur." She gave him a small smile.

"I can't -" Christine said gravely. "Erik is injured."

True, Christine was dying – figuratively, of course – for a bed. But would she truly be able to fall asleep? Probably not very fast. And Erik, where would he be going?

Daroga's eyes widened with surprise, as he turned to Erik preoccupied.

"Des – " The masked man rudely interrupted. Waving his hand in a dismissive manner, he stepped towards Christine, eyeing Daroga in what seemed a warning.

"It's nothing to worry about, I assure. It's just a scratch." He growled.

Christine, as often succeeded, couldn't keep herself silent.

"A scratch?" Her incredibly high pitched voice echoed all around the room. "It's a sword-cut."

Erik pouted as the older man quickly called a maid – was it so late that the staff was already up? "Truly, there is no need to call a doctor, Daroga. I can deal with this myself."

Daroga scratched his beard pensively. "I do not doubt your healing abilities, as you well know." Christine couldn't quite make up his accent. Or his age, though he was clearly older. Were all people related to Erik this mysterious? "But you've had a rough night on you. Both of you, actually." He winked at Christine, professionally ignoring the death-glare Erik was throwing him. "You are not in condition to stitch it or even clean it right now – Hollande has been called for, and he shall not be long. As for you, Mademoiselle, I insist you do go rest. The room has already been arranged, if you wish."

But… what about Erik? Sensing her unwillingness, the phantom moved closer and put his hand on her shoulder reassuringly. Which felt like a sting.

"Get some sleep, Christine. We are safe here."

Christine quickly bowed to both gentlemen and followed the maid Daroga had previously called for, who led her up a magnificent staircase. Since Christine had only yet been in the small parlor room, she hadn't had the opportunity to see other divisions of the house. She couldn't say it as big as the Ópera Populaire, but it wasn't what she would classify as modest neither. Sumptuous paintings and statues were hanging everywhere, in a style that curiously resembled Erik's – the realization dawned upon Christine as she frowned her eyebrows. It was luxurious, but somehow not ostentatious. Daroga seemed to be a man of aesthetically good taste and a sense of décor. When they reached the top of the stairs, they followed across a long corridor to the left. The chambermaid, who looked about as young as Christine, opened the double door and shyly said:

"Here is your room, mademoiselle. I hope you find it to your taste."

Christine politely thanked her and proceeded to enter the room. It was a wide division, with plenty of light – quite unlike her room in the opera house. A small fire was burning at one of the ends of the room, a medium-sized canopy bed on the opposite side. A few jars filled with gypsophila were placed around the room and a small rustic dressing table was next to the bed. It was the most beautiful room Christine had ever been in. Sure, it didn't have enriched silks or velvets, but it was simple and it reminded her of past days by the French seaside with father. Without thinking, she immediately reached for the gigantic windows, and her breath got stuck in her throat.

The view was heavenly. A large garden like she'd never seen lay before her eyes. A small river ran across the back of the estate and there was a Palladian bridge over it. By the banks, one could see wildflower beds and hawthorns, maples, azaleas and weeping willows. On the right temple, there seemed to be a glass house. The garden was united to the main house through a double set of stairs. The sun was starting to rise and if the pretty girl didn't feel so worn out, she would have loved to stroll around the magnificent park.

"It's lovely, isn't it?" Christine asked the maid, completely unable (and unwilling) to hide the huge smile creeping up on her face.

Surprised by the friendly remark, the girl blushed slightly but replied. "Very much, my lady."

A knock was heard at the door. The maid quickly opened it, and Erik stepped in.

"Christine, do you mind?"

What was he doing? Hadn't he gone to rest as well? "Not a bit. Mina, thank you so much." The small girl nodded and left, and Erik walked in Christine's direction, getting close enough to hold her. He sighed soundly and quietly put his chin on the crown of her head. He smelled nice, as always, and Christine couldn't help but give a little sniff. She didn't even try to hide it. As tired as she was, she wouldn't even bother to do it.

"Do you feel well?"

"Hm-hm. Why wouldn't I be?"

Erik waited a while to respond. As he spoke, she could feel the grave sound rumbling in his chest. "I will make it up to you as much as I can. You won't be kept in a cage, Christine. We can go back as soon as you can. You just have to say the word."

This small speech brought tears to her eyes. Probably he didn't get how much it had affected her. Erik was always putting her first. That scared her a little bit. As much as it was comforting to know he constantly thought of well-being, Christine didn't want to be put on a pedestal. Which Erik didn't do, most of the time. But over-protectiveness and Erik were not an unsuitable match.

"I wouldn't risk it, not now. But…" He looked down at her inquisitively. "Where are we? Whose house is this?" Christine whispered this last sentence, afraid that somewhere Daroga could hear her. Laughing quietly, he reverently kissed her forehead, making Christine blush. "I am so glad to know you're well. Tomorrow I will explain everything, is that alright?" He smirked. "But for now, we need some rest."


	17. La Maison

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ooioi again! Once more, I am sorry for the delay. Finally, finals are over for me so hopefully chapters will be posted more frequently. I do not really know where I am going with the story right now (although I have ideas prickling in my mind for the next 3 or 4), so pleaseeee tell me what you think. Hope you can forgive me for the waiting. This chapter is still not a very groundbreaking one, but I guess the next one will do - I hope to post it next week, tops. Thank you for your support!

\- Christine's POV -

As predictable, Christine slept all day. Oh, perhaps not that predictable. Before being able to fall asleep properly, all events were replayed on her mind over and over again, endlessly. Christine was tense. Well yes, she was safe for the time being in fabulous quarters - who owned this house, anyway? But what about her friends? What about the life she had left behind? What was she supposed to do? After all, Raoul De Chagny could perfectly harm her dearest ones in order to try to find her out. Not that they could tell him, anyway. The only soul who probably knew who Christine was with was Madame Giry, but even the vicomte himself knew that.

After struggling for a long time - though any time feels long enough when one is completely drowned out - Christine fell into a heavy, dreamless sleep. When she woke up, Christine was slightly confused. But she soon remembered it all. Unwilling to dwell on the same horrible thoughts of the previous morning for too long, she called for a maid to help her with her bath and clothing, since she didn't know anything about the house where she was staying. Thankfully, the maid (the same girl she had met in the morning) was incredibly helpful, and the fact that there was a trunk filled with clothes which fit her - too much of a coincidence? - saved her of a potentially embarrassing situation.

Prepared for a new day and anxious to meet and talk to Erik, Christine quickly tidied her room before heading downstairs. As she as trying to be as graceful as possible, her stomach rumbled loudly. Ugh. The truth was, Christine had barely eaten the day before. And as much as she hated to admit it, she was absolutely starving and the idea that it might not be suppertime yet terrified her a little, adding to the numerous preoccupations she already had.

"Hungry, are we?" She was startled as she heard the now familiar, husky voice. Erik had been behind her the entire time?

"Erik! Do you always have to do that?" Her tone was rispid, but Christine was whispering just in case anyone could hear her. And blushing with embarrassment, for sure. The masked man beside her chuckled softly. "I beg your pardon, Christine. Would you give me honor to bring you to the dining hall?"

No longer caring about his mocking of her, she replied. "Yes yes, you may. Please.", Christine eagerly added. Erik threw her once again one of his amused glances, but Christine wouldn't bother about that. Not while she was hungry and the promise of food was just a few meters away. Erik conducted her to a small, still brightened room. The sun just started to set. A footman pushed a chair for Christine to sit on, and Erik added. "In fact, this is not the main dining room per se. I thought it would be more comfortable if we were to have breakfast in a smaller parlour."

Christine's eyes must have doubled their size as she asked gravely. "What do you mean, breakfast?" She squinted at him. Clearly unaffected by her suspicious voice, he continued. "I meant what I just said."

Christine thought he had to be kidding her. But surprisingly, he wasn't. As they were both sitting down, the footman started to lay the table. Buttered scrambled eggs, jams, croissants and toast, as well as juice, tea, coffee and - chocolat! - were all cerimoniously put on the table before Christine had a chance to process what was going on. A quick dismissive nod by Erik, and both men were gone. Even agape, she noticed the men didn't seem to mind Erik's appearance. Strangely enough, Erik seemed pretty comfortable with the fact that two outside people had just seen him in his mask.

"How on earth did you conjure this up?"

"Well, I simply asked the staff." He quickly served her a generous cup of warm chocolat, and then proceeded to take a small cup of coffee for himself.

"But breakfast... at suppertime?" The way Christine had said it made it sound as if a blasphemy was being uttered.

Erik chuckled lightly. "Yes, I thought it would be more comforting, especially since you love croissants so much." He sipped his coffee without putting any sugar on it. "And your morning chocolat, let us not forget." She smiled brilliantly at him for the remark, still in awe with the fact that she was drinking hot chocolate and drinking croissants for dinner. Christine stood looking at him for a while. Just hours before, they had fled Paris. She had been in danger of falling onto a lunatic's hands. They had acted together. He'd been hurt. They had acted in an unique opera in front of the entire city. By now, the police should be after them. It felt strange that all of that seemed so far away from their reality. It was as if nothing had passed. Except that it had. Aside from all the flight confusion and stress, things between Christine and Erik were not sorted out yet. And she would hold him to his promise. Her main concern now was to know how soon they would be able to go back. She calculated that for at least a couple of months they wouldn't be able to do so. How about Madame Giry and Meg? Would she be able to communicate with them in any way? As all of this went through her mind, Christine forced herself to do small talk before heading to the big stuff.

"How is your arm?"

"Fine, thank you." Erik grew pensive. "Daroga insisted that a doctor should attend to me." As he finished the sentence he scoffed a little.

"Wasn't it necessary?" Christine raised her eyebrows in disbelief. Erik hadn't allowed her to see the cut, but she hadn't believed for a second that it was just a scratch, as he so eloquently had put it. Actually, the masked man seemed a little upset with her remark.

"As far as I am concerned, no." He almost growled. Christine didn't understand much of his attitude, but it probably had something to do with the fact that his pride had been bruised. Erik wasn't exactly a man used to get help. He was stubbornness itself, and too self-sufficient to accept any gesture he didn't deem necessary or thought as pity towards himself. Well, she wouldn't fight him. Christine was too tired.

"And where is Monsieur Daroga? Isn't he having supper as well?"

Erik hummed. "He is Paris-bound this evening, I believe."

"Oh."

"And how did you find your room? Did you rest well?"

"Yes…" He was looking at her attentively, not missing a single expression she might give away. Erik frowned his eyebrows, as he always did when something worried him. Clearly he didn't find Christine's short answer satisfactory. "There's a lot on my mind, though.", Christine sighed.

"I guessed as much. There is a lot to discuss."

Finally, they were heading to the subjects that were prickling in her head.

"I am quite aware that there are certain matters that need clarification between us, Christine. I intend to solve that as soon as possible."

So, he hadn't forgotten. Christine was glad she didn't have to push the conversation forward this time. Reality hadn't quite settled in yet, but the number of subjects worrying her was increasing by the minute. By the way Erik looked, the impeding conversation was weighing on him. Not that he looked particularly stressed, anyway. As always, he managed to put a mask of apparent indifference - a quality that Christine didn't seem to have. Oh, but she had learned a few things about him during the previous months. That knowledge allowed her to affirm that his coolness was nothing more than a way of hiding away his true emotions. He was shielding her, although Christine did not understand what from. The truth was that they would eventually need to sort out what all of this meant. And she couldn't quite put the finger on to why that seemed such a delicate matter to Erik. He had already mentioned his age as a preoccupating factor, and Christine knew that great part of his hesitation was probably due to what lay behind the mask. This, of course, didn't come at all as surprise, bearing in mind what Madame Giry had told her. Christine was already the person he trusted the most, she hoped. But would that be enough for someone as reserved and with as many layers as Erik? Somehow, she couldn't get rid of the thought that he was hiding something important from her, ever since their little tête-a-tête on the lair.

"I think you should. I need to know more about where we stand."

Had he caught the subtle hint she sent him? It didn't seem so - he was aloof to her references. But his eyes rested on her, grave looking.

In the meantime, they had finished the meal. Erik rang a bell and got up, pushing the chair so Christine could leave the dining table as well. Swiflty, the two footman reappeared and lifted up the table. Christine stood looking at the window, until she noticed Erik gesturing to her. He took her to an adjacent parlor, smaller than the room they'd been previously in. A sumptuous fire was burning. Erik closed the door behind her, ever so softly. In the dim lighted room, his eyes were dark and hid gaze piercing. He moved feline like. That made Christine feel anxious, for he only turned like that when trying to protect something. His demeanor indicated that they were no longer engaging a light hearted conversation as they had before. Somehow, he reminded her of the previous night. Tall, dark, and demanding a attention. The tension in the air was almost palpable. As when he was trying to avoid a topic, Erik kept pacing around the room. A terrible mannerism, really. Especially considering he was even taller than Raoul, Erik practically needed to take only two steps before reaching the other end of the division. Well, that annoyed Christine.

"Would you please stop walking around for once?", the pretty brunnette pleaded. "What is the matter?" He stopped abruptly and kept looking intensely at her. Erik didn't move of make any gesture.

"As you know, the police is looking for us." Christine nodded. "Not officially, of course. They would never admit to be looking for an opera ghost, but they assume that the soprano Christine Daaé has been kidnapped, because that is what they saw." His voice sounded grave and serious. Eloquent, as he'd ever been. "The only person who saw me is De Chagny, but luckily I was wearing the Don Juan mask." He stopped and sighed loudly, as he approached the now moonlit window, and carried on. "The newspapers report today that there was a tragic accident at the opera house. The vicomte is held responsible for it by several witnesses. He is to be interrogated."

An accident? What kind of accident? And Raoul, in jail? Everything sounded too differntes from what she had imagined. Her throat was strained, and she struggled to talk. "Pray, go on." Erik wasn't looking at her anymore, but at some remote point beyond the windowpane. His low voice resounded in the small room.

"The chandelier fell." The great crystal chandelier? How could it have happened? There was no object so dear and valued in Ópera Populaire such as it. The directors were always bringing in constructers and engineers to evaluate the security and maintenance of it. "Apparently, De Chagny gave orders to cut the main rope while we were on stage. The police force swears by it."

Christine stood still, as Erik continued. "Since he ran off after us, that theory has strenghtened. Seventeen people died due to the crash. Policemen on the outside wouldn't open the doors, as they had orders to keep them locked." She felt like a statue. How could such a tragedy take place? Her body trembled from head to toe, and thinking about her friends made her feel nauseous. Her brown eyes were desperately trying to focus Erik, who now moved towards her. "Antoinette and Marguerite were not harmed. By noon, Daroga sent me a note telling he has found them, and they're safe." He smiled reassuringly, rubbing his hand on her for Christine, she felt as if the chandelier itself had been lifted off her shoulders. At least, they were safe. However, she was still anguished. The Opera House was her only home, after all.

"Still, there was a great fire which destroyed most of the main room." Erik's voice was strained now, as if he'd been hurt. Erik stood rigidly against the window, in what Christine secretly called his 'attack' pose. He was also angry by the accident. Whatever resentments he held against the vicomte, they had grown giant, since the Ópera Populaire was also the only home he had come to know.

"I'm glad they are safe. Are they going to Nette's old house?"

Erik nodded and slowly turned to her. "Until the vicomte is kept imprisoned, they will be. Anyway, they are safer in Paris. The dull man is undoubtedly keeping an eye ib them". Yes, that made sense. As always, he had thought everything through and Christine felt immensely glad for having him by her side. He was oddly composed, which she felt was quite surprising, considering the circumstances.

"I understand this… changes things." Christine said sofly in the dim-lighted room, before courage faltered her. His eyes were piercing as ever, but his face betrayed no emotion.

"That is not just it." He growled suddenly, almost in a painful manner. "There were… are certain facts you need to know, things that I have to tell before we take any decision on our hands."

Things? What kind of things could he possibly mean?

"Our sudden departure from the opera house altered all my plans in regards to our impeding conversation… And I will tell you everything, Christine. I owe you that much, since we are were because of the actions I took. And as much as it would be easier to get over it, I reckon these last few days have been quite… intense." He rubbed the half of his face that was uncovered by the mask, revealing an exhausted grim expression. "Since we have eloped together… the subject is being forced upon us."

Now that she knew Raoul to be under arrest and her friends to be protected (even if temporarily, since their steps were closely followed by Monsieur Daroga), Christine felt much more relieved, but no less alert. She could breathe for now. The knowledge that Erik would be doing the same thing to Raoul did bring her some rest to her mind. But whatever it was that Erik wanted to tell her seemed to be serious enough, for him to having dodged the 'subject' for so long. The conversation he talked about would have to be postponed for a few days, and Christine felt she must have looked like a fool, pressing him like that when there were so much more urgent things to attend to! Still, the mystery remained and she couldn't shake off the strange feeling that crept into her head - insecurity, something she never felt around him. Things were getting denser by the minute, and Christine was at lost with what to think of it. She nodded.

Insecurely, Erik walked towards her and cupped her hands with his own. His gaze held hers in a reserved manner. "Maybe you should get some rest for now."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, what do you think Erik's mystery is? Stay tuned and review s'il vous plaît! 8D


	18. Truth

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey lovelies! I know I should've released this one a loooong time ago... but unfortunately my muses were not feeling so good. Oh well, enjoy and forget to review!

\- Erik's POV -

After diligently watching Christine retiring to her room, Erik decided to head to the office. Pacing inside the division. He finally sat down in a velvet armchair and brought his hand to the head, as if he had a headache. Curse everything. Practically ordering Christine upstairs was not an action Erik had been proud of. It was as good as ditching her, and both knew it. Protecting her had come with the inevitability of hurting her. Their escapade had forced all of this on their heads, especially Erik's. He didn't like that. The phantom felt cornered by events he had not been able to predict or change. And the idea that Christine was also prey to these circumstances dawned on him in the form of guilt. This was not how he had wanted to do things. Times like these required extreme caution on his side, especially when the idea of rejection was becoming ever more real as time went by. Erik wouldn't be able to take its blow. But he would have to tell it to her, sooner than later. What would her reaction be? Christine thought she knew everything about him, or so it seemed. He didn't want, above all things, to disappoint her.

He mused on the subject for quite a long time, until the room was close to pitch dark. At a distance, he heard the sound of a carriage approaching. That must be Daroga, for sure. Ugh, the last thing he needed right now. As much as he enjoyed the old man's company and advice, his conscience already felt heavy enough for now. But the facts had to be faced, and Erik didn't take himself for a coward. Not ever, not now. As if Nadir Khan (Erik called him Daroga as a endearment, since they had been good friends for years) had read his mind, the man himself knocked at his office door.

"May I come in?" Khan had the most peculiar persian accent, which made him sound a lot more harmless than what he was in reality. Quickly, Erik stood up and walked towards him. He could easily tower Khan, but Daroga was not a man to be easily intimidated. He nodded in response to the question he had been asked, not in the mood to talk much. Nadir Khan smoothly walked in, more confident than most in his presence. Of course he wouldn't let the conversation slip by this chance, and Erik would be a fool to think so.

"So… have you told the girl?"

Erik kept pacing down and up the room. Khan had comfortably placed himself on one of the armchairs, smoking his pipe leisurely.

"Not yet."

The persian eyed him curiously. Erik could do well without his looks and judgment. But what was implicit in his tone was the same reproach the masked man had confronted himself with several times. Daroga hummed, as if considering carefully his next words.

"You must tell Mademoiselle Daaé. I understand, Destler - but this man, this vimconte situtation paced it up. She needs to know whose house she's in. Christine is not to be kept in the dark."

Erik growled.

"The last thing I would wish for is to disappoint Christine" He said in a cold manner. "But I couldn't. Not today or any day too soon. The latest events have taken quite a toll on her."

Pensively, Khan kept making smoke rings to amuse himself. His humming and lack of response was solemnly irritating Erik. There was silence for a long time and the tall man finally decided to take a seat. He felt mentally drained. The chance, as small as it seemed on a rational perspective, of breaking Christin'es trust, was taking his mind off other urgent business, and distracting him. He always came to the same conclusion - Nadir Khan was right. Erik didn't want to give himself away, but he couldn't repress a long, deep sigh.

"My friend…" Daroga stirred in his seat. "Do not seek the fragile situation in which Mademoiselle Daaé finds herself in to excuse yourself." Erik growled in his seat, feeling the victim of a great injustice. "That is, the more reason to tell her. Do not swipe the rug off her feet when she finds steady ground once again."

"Alas, I do not believe she would be as disappointed in you as you seem to think, Destler-"

"Do not call me that under any circumstances when Christine is present."

"Mademoiselle is to know. Now that she is here, it won't take her too long to realize certain… things. But I will be more careful in the meantime, my friend."

As much as Erik detested it, every word DAroga uttered corresponded to what he had told himself over and over again. The truth was, he simply dreaded what was to come. If telling her the truth meant breaking Christine's faith in him, then there was simply no point in all they had gone through together. No point at all. His failure would be colossal, and that would crush him in the end.

But there was no way around it. Sooner or later, Christine would have to know all the same. What frightened him was that, whatever the outcome, they were bound together. If she was disappointed in him, there would be no place for her to go safely. And for his reasons, Erik wouldn't (or couldn't) leave neither. They would be stuck. And she would hate him all the more.

While his thoughts kept circling the same conclusions over and over again. Nadir Khan kept looking at him - probably wondering that he'd never seen Erik in this state for the entire time they had been acquainted.

The masked man had already led Christine down the rabbit hole. Now that he'd mentioned their imminent conversation, there was no way she would let it go. A thumping sound could be heard. Being swiftly awakened from his slumber daydreams, Erik noticed Khan had served him some bourbon. He was a man of few words, but of precious loyalty and honesty. And he meant well. There were no second thoughts behind his actions, which was more than one could say about most men, as Erik was concerned. He lifted the half full glass and the warm, spicy liquid went down his throat, distracting him for the time being.

\- Christine's POV -

On that morning, she decided to take a walk around the greenhouse. Christine loved exploring the majestic garden of the properties - by far, it was one of the few places where she truly felt at liberty to be alone with her thoughts. But the glass-house was just too… beautiful. For her to feel at ease, that was. As Christine walked in, she couldn't help but gasp a little, as she always did. A luxurious exhibition of the most astonishing plants, of many different shapes and colours, but arranged in a simple, non-extravagant way. Christine had decided a long time ago that whoever had been in charge of the decoration had done an outstanding job. Swiftly, she walked down the main corridor and stepped until a more open area, circular and oriental-like, with giant cushions spread all over the place. The light that crossed the glass ceiling was faint and it highlighted a couple of divans and armchairs, that mingled well with the sort of jungly and exotic atmosphere. Yes, she could definitely think things through here.

It had been nearly three weeks since she had found herself in the mysterious house. To tell the truth, Christine still had no idea as to where they were. Probably not too far from Paris, she reckoned. But one could easily perceive that the area they were currently in was in a way… exclusive. The mansion, as it was far from modest, did not feel too opulent neither. There was a sense of comfort, but also of unfamiliarity. What didn't help to soothe this feeling away was the fact that Erik seemed to be perfectly at ease within this foreign scenario. He walked around the house and gave orders to staff as if he was the master of the house himself. Another strange thing was that the household employees didn't seem to mind his mask at all. No one even blinked when he addressed them by their names and they treated him most courteously. To add to the list of puzzly things happening, Mounsieur Khan (Christine had learnt that was is real name, in the meantime) seemed to show up less than one would expect from the host and uncharacteristically, he was treated as a guest, it seemed. All of these contributed to confuse Christine during the first few days. But somehow, every time she thought about what Erik had told her, along with his infinite private conversations with Daroga something started prickling on the back of her mind. However, the only conclusions she would come to sounded ridiculous and far-fetched once she considered them better. And this ongoing situation was, to say the least, frustrating. Erik wouldn't openly tell her anything, of course. But most of the time they spent together, it always felt as if he was being extra careful handling her, which didn't comfort Christine in the least. Even though she knew that Madame Giry and Meg were alright and that Raoul de Chagny was still held in jail, an atmosphere of imminent doom was clouding her mind. So many mysteries had made her mind a hyperactive one, which was no good. Christine wouldn't ever relax properly. It was like being in a really tight corset all the time. As a result, her temper was becoming more tempestive by the minute. She could handle many things, but close people keeping secrets from her was not one of them. Especially when she could be almost sure that these secrets, in some way, involved her. Feeling frustrated, she stared at the ceiling. A creaking sound could be heard. Soft steps became more audible as Erik approached. Not sure if he should get any closer, the tall masked man didn't walk into the sunlit area.

"Is everything alright?" He asked softly, holding his gaze on her.

Christine pondered well before answering his question. Should she say anything? Would he think she was being too… meddlesome?

"There are things you are keeping from me."

His entire face looked like a mask. As always, no emotion could be identifiable. Erik's gaze, though, was piercing.

"May I sit down?" He was being delicate, courteous. But Christine knew better. Erik was relunctant, but conformed. She'd touched a weak spot for him. Christine nodded, watching him as he graciously sit down on one of the armchairs. In a word, Erik looked regal. Suddenly it dawned on her that this was not going to be a friendly conversation, or at least that was the impression she was getting from the masked man's demeanour. Decided not to be intimidated by his oddly cold ways and sudden change of behaviour, she proceeded.

"You said…" Christine was at loss and for a moment didn't know how to convey everything that was running through her mind. She kept her eyes intently on him, forcing his stare on her, trying very hard to keep her voice from shaking. "…you talked about us having a conversation once Don Juan was over. Then we came here. And I am waiting for the answers." Christine exhaled deeply, surprised at how easily words had come to her help. " You promised.", she added feebly.

He kept looking at her. Everytime he was confronted, he gave her that penetrating look that both amazed and startled her. It was intense as it could possibly be, and yet there was no warmth in it. Erik had looked at her like that before, especially at times when he was angry about something. But this time it felt different. Much, much different. She had stepped unknowingly into very dangerous ground. Of course, she wasn't as naïve as to think that it would be an easy talk, since he had been defensive about it from the very beginning. Feeling uncomfortable on her seat, Christine patiently awaited.

"I am not who you think."

This was quite an unexpected declaration, uttered as if it was a completely normal to say. Christine's eyes widened in shock and incomprehension, but she decided not to interrupt.

"Probably you have realized by now that I have tried to find the ideal circumstances to answer all your questions. It seems like there is no such thing." His serious-almost-business-like tone was starting to get to her nerves, and Erik's eyes never wandered off her, probably not wanting to miss a single expression on her part. After a small pause, he continued, sounding a little more preoccupied. "As you know, I spent some years abroad. In Persia and other eastern lands." Christine nodded again. Yes, he had told her several stories about the countries he'd been in, although not in a very detailed manner. "I left just a few years after I arrived at Ópera Populaire. At the time, I had managed to perfect some… skills, many of them related to illusionism. Being a child trapped in a majestic building such as the operahouse, I managed to make my presence felt in various ways, many of them related to tricks. I also loved drawing, and knew how to sing reasonably." He stopped as if to regain track of thought. "By the time I was a young boy of 13, I decided I had to explore the world. Of course my previous life in the overground world had not been forgotten. I knew just how cruel the human race could be." Sensing Christine's apprehension, he carried on. "So I created my first mask - rudimentary piece, no doubt - and at the first chance I got, I fell in with a band of gypsies." Erik smirked a little, but it didn't reach his eyes. "Even with my primary skills, and being an illiterate, they took me in. Probably because they were afraid of the 'Devil's Child'. We travelled all around Eastern Europe, and with them I managed to become more than anyone ever expected me to be. Then, we arrived in Persia, to a city called Mazenderan. I don't quite know how, but I was just around 17 when the a prince in Persia - you can confirm this with Daroga later, if you want - commissioned me to work for him." He sighed deeply, still holding Christine's gaze. "I spent there quite some time, and I revealed a certain talent for architecture. It was later ordered that I should then help building a new palace, so intricate in its ways, secret passages and trapdoors that even the slightest whisper could be heard in any other part of the palace. It was an authentic fortress. The prince was very satisfied with the result. So satisfied that he sent men after me. The reason behind this act was so that no one could ever solve the mystery and replicate the work I'd done. The situation at hand required some resourcefulness from me. After running for some time - after all, I had spent some time on the road - I had to take drastic measures. You see Christine, I didn't just learn architecture when I was in Persia. I learnt the art of deceit. And death." Erik gulped, and this time he was definitely not looking at her. Surprisingly, his voice was firm. "I am not proud of it. But I didn't know better at the time, I hope you will understand as much." Christine never averted her eyes from him. She didn't know how to react to the piece of news he'd just given her, but it wasn't as if a similar story hadn't crossed her mind yet. So she just nodded. "Luckily, I am honoured to owe my life to Daroga. He was, after all, a persian police and was quite aware of the situation I had allowed myself to be into. He saved me and helped me escape. After that episode, I proceeded to Constantinople and was again employed as an architect in the Yildiz-Kiosk. When it seemed like history was about to repeat itself, I eloped to the only home I had ever known: Paris." Even if Christine had wanted to, she wouldn't have been able to utter a single word. This seemed too… fantastic to be true. "Knowing the city like the back of my hand, I immediately found Ópera Populaire. I managed to hide myself from the world again and build a small home in the cellars. And around that time, a little girl of six years old arrived at the operahouse as well. You only know part of the story from this point on." The pretty brunette couldn't help but furrow her brows slightly. Part of the story? A sense of indignation struck her. "The truth is, although I do live in the operahouse - or have lived, for that matter -" His eyes showed anger towards the events that had taken place recently. "I have also been commissioned as an architect in Paris. For nearly twelve years I have directed several projects for the nobility. Which brings me to my final revelation." In that moment, Christine forgot how to breathe with anticipation and fear. What else could he possibly say next?

"My name is Erik Destler."

"Destler?" she repeated.

Suddenly, an alarm sounded in Christine's head. Hadn't Monsieur Khan called him that before? In the meantime, Erik just sat there, staring fiercely at her petite figure. Then it hit her. Destler was the name of one of the royal architects. She recognized the name from Raoul's talks about the fascination of the king with remodelling buildings and ordering new ones to be erected. Rumour had it that he was interested in supervising the works of Ópera Populaire's remodelling. Apparently, the Destler man was causing quite an uproar on the court. But that couldn't be Erik… could it? How had he managed to juggle a double life? In Christine's head, nothing made sense any more.

"Yes." Erik's voice was filled with determination and a slight note of anxiety.

"How… did you…?" Although the question was vague, Christine knew he understood the implications of it.

Directing a more concerned look at her, the masked man promptly answered. "I had contacts from my times spent on the East. Some members of aristocracy enjoy travelling there from time to time, as I soon found out. Firstly, I only designed gardens and small country cottages. But word spread, and I decided that I would manage to rise to the occasion. Daroga, who had at the time moved to Paris, acted out as my secretary. I sketched the projects and supervised them discreetly; Daroga established communication with my clients. I was a ghost-architect for quite some time, but it didn't do for too long. Eventually I had to come out and present myself to an exclusive set of aristocrats, because my clients demanded of me to do so." Erik stopped for a while, and exhaled soundly. "They consider the mask to be an eccentricity of mine. I tried to convince them that it is so, indeed. Since they don't get to see me too often, ironically the mask seems to have increased my popularity among them. And that's it."

Christine could see that he didn't look so at ease anymore. Although his look was firm, his ice mask had fallen. He looked expectant. Anxious. She quickly realized that her reaction to all of this was probably the source of this… hesitation on his part. But unfortunately, she couldn't give want he wanted.

"During all this time…" her voice trembled and sounded a lot more high-pitched than she wish it did. "…it never ocurred to you to tell me any of this?" However, Christine was getting so angry that she couldn't help but explode. "I-I thought… the operahouse was your only home! Everything I knew - or I thought I knew of you was … based on the knowledge that you had been living alone in the cellars! That you were isolated from the world, a-an outcast! And you," she threw him a furious glance, her fists curled on her lap. "You led me on. And all this time, I trusted you. You knew all my secrets. I trusted my life to you. And you… you couldn't even tell me that you had a life out here." Tears were prickling her eyes, and she couldn't bring herself to say anything else. Nothing she could say would express the feeling of betrayal that was shattering her. Some of her thoughts were unfair, she knew that. And a part of her was glad that Erik wasn't a lone man who spent most of his time tricking opera workers all day, perpetually hiding in the shadows and blackmailing directors. But could have told her, couldn't he? Especially considering the nuances of their relationship…

"Erik Destler was a name that could not be associated, in any way, to Ópera Populaire. Please understand this." Erik's voice was a pleading growl. "I was going to tell you after the opening night, Christine. But… then we had to come here, to my place. And all I ever wanted was to give you a choice."

Tears were now running down the soprano's porcelain skin. Her eyes were burning, her throat was sore. And Christine couldn't take any more of this.

"I-I can't deal with this. Not right now." Her voice was raspy. "Please leave."


	19. Goshen

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'M BACK AND I'M SO, SO SORRY. Over the past few moths, uni has been chaotic and with the constant stress and work, I hardly had any time to write. Jut want to say that I really appreciate your amazing reviews, as they keep me motivated to keep up with this fanfiction. In that line of thought, let me tell you that I don't plan on quitting writing this story for the time being, so DON'T WORRY, I've got you covered. And as the last chapter ended with a pseudo-cliffhanger (once again, I didn't mean to!), here you have.

\- Christine's POV -

Erik had left. She had last seen of him two days ago, when she decided that the bedroom would be the perfect place to hide herself from the world, like a pitiful little child. Precisely. The voice of reason kept telling her how rash, how juvenile of her it had been. If anything, she had not been able to rise to the situation at hand. And still, Christine could not help but feel angry - at circumstances and herself. Erik hadn't done her any harm, had he? The fact that he had built a life for himself despite, well… everything, was nothing short of fantastic. But it did change things somehow. After weeks of not being sure of what was to be, Christine felt as though fate had mischievously pulled the rug underneath her feet. Of course everything just brought back the eternal question - who was Erik? Her perception of him was ever-changing - every time Christine thought she knew him, it turned out she actually didn't. Like some cruel plot twist in a cheap romance. Of course the idea of Erik locked in the cellars of the operahouse, attempting to be completely cast out from humanity and living a fully isolated life, while feeling sorry for himself and obsessing over ballerinas, tricking and blackmailing at his will - that was not what she saw in him, or wanted to see anyway. But Christine could not see much beyond the point where she was staying at the house of a man she didn't quite know, away from home and forbidden to establish any form of contact. Even if the man in question was Erik and she had trusted him with her life. Even if deep inside she knew better than what she kept telling herself out of pure shock and distress, her attitude towards him had been cruel. Deep inside, Christine could not bring herself to believe that he had tricked her. And she would have to apologise to Erik. Soon.

She had been an idiot. And she knew it. As soon as Erik had left the greenhouse, it had hit her. But Christine felt as though some stupor was clouding her better judgement. She had taken all of her frustrations on him, as if he were some kind of punching bag. Slowly, she sat on the edge of her bed, unable to sleep properly for the past few days. True, things had been quite chaotic for the past few weeks. There had been many variables which Christine had not been able to control - not that it would have been possible, anyway. Christine tried to look at things with as much neutrality as she could. She had spent weeks rehearsing and preparing herself mentally for an unforgettable opening night (sadly, for all the wrong reasons), she had had to run away and leave behind all things she deemed dear - and with this crucial detail she had only been confronted that very same night, since Erik had not unveiled his plans to her. Ñot that this could erase all the hurtful things she had told him. She had no right to attack his… previous life. Erik had always made clear he had secrets - and not once had he said she would like what he had to say. Christine had been unfair towards him. After all, hadn't he risked everything too?

A sense of dignity urged her to apologise immediately to Erik. She owed it to him, to say the least. Somehow her head couldn't cope with the fact that he had a life outside the operahouse, after all they'd been through. Why couldn't he have told her all of this before? To be sure he could trust her? - well, that had hurt. Some part of her felt betrayed, as if he had waited to find her in a delicate position, cornered, to tell her this. After all, right now she was depending on him, and not just a temporary basis.

Not that she had to accept or approve anything - it wasn't any of her business anyway, and Erik didn't needing her approval concerning his past dealings. However, new light was shed on him - there it was, that part of him Christine had never come to know. The mystery, solved at last. Bigger, more fantastic than anything she could have conjured up herself. And it scared her, because not only was she realising how truly little she knew about him, after all. And how little she could do in the position she found herself in - at the will of a man whom she had trusted, but whom she didn't know much about. So far, he had been a great friend and true to his word. But if he changed his mind, what would she do then? Christine didn't like feeling so vulnerable, at the mercy of circumstances she could not predict nor control; was she to be a prisoner? Panic was clouding her better judgment; she was rather afraid that all the scheming of the past few months was finally getting to her. Had Erik even ever given her any real motive to feel fear towards him? Truthfully, she had no reason no doubt Erik now, after all they'd been through together. And he'd been true to his word, that much she could tell.

She knocked on the door. For what it felt like a thousand years, silence ensued. Finally, a low tone could be heard. "Come in." It sounded lower than usual. Christine couldn't help but think how the phantom's voice seemed to be so rich in expressing sentiments, however right now any trace of emotion was indistinguishable. A tinge of guilt hit her. Slowly, she opened the door (almost soundlessly), and quickly closed it behind her, holding herself against it. Taking in the scenario, she realised Erik's back was turned to her, hands behind his back also. Christine could not see his face, and couldn't decide whether this was for the better or the worse. Was he angry? Of course, he had every right to be so, after what she'd done. He didn't say a word, nor did he move. She stood there, seemingly unable to do anything. Only now did it start do "befall" on her how much she must have hurt him, and both guilt and shame overwhelmed her. It was late afternoon, and the sun would soon set. "…I…" Christine seemed to choke on her own words. Erik seemed to take no notice of this, and his back were still facing her. She felt helpless.

"Erik, please…" she nearly whispered. "Look at me."

He still didn't move one bit, heightening Christine's state of despair. A pregnant pause followed. She couldn't, she wouldn't cry - as weird as it sounded, she felt too nervous for that. Not wishing to prolong this moment for more than the strictly necessary. Christine felt the need to reach out to Erik, to be closer to him. Slowly, she moved across the room and walked around the impressive mahogany desk, and soon was standing by his side, facing his left shoulder. His profile was stone hard, eyes looking through the window., expertly avoiding her gaze. It was not surprising at all that Christine wasn't able to trace any concrete emotion on his features, as it seemed carved on ice. It was time.

"I owe you an apology. I-I overreacted and was unfair… I'm so, so sorry, Erik. Nothing I told you was fair or deserved. I lashed out on you. Please, forgive me." If Erik had heard her, his face most certainly didn't show it for a long, long time. Suddenly, he turned towards her, and finally a strained low baritone voice could be heard.

"Christine… are you scared of me?" A breath caught up in Christine's throat. The pain conveyed in such a small number of words was almost palpable and its intensity took Christine by surprise. The fear of rejection creeped up on Erik. Though his expression was hard, his eye were almost… pleading. Guilt assaulted her conscience instantly. And regret, for hurting the one person who had kept her under protection at all costs. And how she feared that look, yet longed for it. It was almost burning with all of its intensity directed solely at her. Christine had never met anyone with such and imposing presence. Everything in him was too much - simply overwhelming. Never once did her eyes leave his.

"I was scared" she said honestly "… when I realised I didn't know about you as much as I supposed I did." Swiftly, she reached out for his face, cupping it with her hand. "But you are the person I trust most in the world." She kept getting closer to him. Erik didn't flinch or back away, which Christine supposed to be a good sign. However, he still looked hurt from her words. " I was so confused I dare even say that I haven't comprehended it yet. It all seems so… absurd and fantastic at the same time. When you told the story of… your life, it frightened me - the fact that, even though I am supposed to be one of the few people who knows you well, I knew so little." Her voice strained. "Close to nothing, really.", she almost whispered this last sentence. "I am so sorry, Erik." Her hand dropped, as she felt more and more shame and regret over her actions. Temporarily, she averted her face from his. Erik brought his hand up to hers. Christine felt on the verge of tears. His thumb started rubbing the back of her hand. He looked serious, but at the same time serene.

After staying silent for some minutes, Erik gently brought her down to a chaise and pushed one of the chairs, sitting right in front of her. She could feel the puffiness of her eyes and her disheveled hair, and observed him. The talk wasn't over yet. Piercing as ever, his look was gentler now. "I hope you understand that I never wanted any of this in the first place. It was the only way I could make sure you were protected against the rascal."

She nodded. Of course she knew. But being the perfect blockhead she was, Christine had only recently started to see things from Erik's perspective. All I ever wanted was to give you a choice, he'd said to her. This was being as hard on him as it was on her. "I asked you to trust me blindly, and don't think that I have taken it in a light way, Christine." Tears were once more prickling her eyes. "As you well know circumstances changed many thoughts I had concerning us, and at the time I thought best to keep you from knowing all the details. By doing so, I believed I was protecting you. And me. In case things hadn't worked out as they did." He gulped, his clear green eyes clouded for a while. "I never intended to cage you in this house. You are free to go anytime you wish. Just say so and I will make all the necessary arrangements. I will get you anywhere you want in safety." His words had sounded like a deep growl. Erik was fixed on her, his expression sincere and anxious.

Christine's mouth was agape as she felt her chest constrict. She didn't have anywhere to go, nor the means to do it. They both knew it, perfectly so. Who else did she have? Where else would she go? And still, Erik offered her further protection away from him? The sudden shock prevented her from saying anything for a while, but Christine managed to speak her mind on the subject as quickly as her mind could form an opinion. "I don't want to go anywhere if it means that you won't come with me." As much control Erik exerted on his facial expressions, a look of surprise assaulted his features. The way Christine had phrased it couldn't have been more blunt - and could hardly leave any doubt as to the nature of her feelings. As she contemplated her words, fear started washing over her. "Unless you don't want me here, of course.", she whispered. Feeling the blushing heat creeping on her cheeks and the constant stinging unshed tears, Christine couldn't quite bring herself to look at him. Exactly how inconstant was she being towards him? She stood up, not entirely sure of what to do. Similarly, Erik got up as well, probably anticipating a dramatic exit on her part. She couldn't keep a straight face anymore. "I-I'm so sorry, E-Erik." Her voice was getting shakier by the minute, but also lower, the result of her desperate attempt to make him understand and perhaps forgive her. A few tears started rolling down her cheeks, making her feel embarrassed for herself and regretful that it had ever crossed her mind that he was taking advantage of the situation they found themselves in. She didn't, couldn't possibly deserve all that Erik was offering her. "I know." Slowly, he leaned towards her. Snaking one of his arms around her waist, he gently brought her head against his shoulder. Christine reciprocated the gesture by hugging him back, hiding her face on his massive chest. He fondled her hair lovingly, and she could feel the beat of his heart going frantic. "And I'm so glad you're here with me." He hoarsely whispered, voice raw with emotion. The petite ballerina nodded furiously, but couldn't find the strength to utter a single word. She was so, so glad to be here.


	20. Outro

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Easter!
> 
> And I'm back! Finally I seem to able to upload another chapter in a reasonable period of time. I was so excited to upload this one that I barely did any proof-reading. If you will be so kind as to point out any major flaw in the text, I would be really glad. As always, I hope you like it :) And thank you so much to the people who did review - I'm glad you are enjoying it!
> 
> Note: The unusual name of this chapter was inspired by the amazing song by M83 with the same name. I've been loving week all week and it seemed... adequate?

\- Erik's POV -

He lowered his head, taking in Christine's irresistible scent. Her curls were as soft as ever, and though they tickled his neck slightly, Erik didn't mind. All he felt was a sudden urge to pull her even closer to him, which he did without reserve, though he could feel himself blushing slightly. He was never one to take such liberties with Christine, unless something was really putting him on the edge. But on hearing her words, the usually self-restrained man could not help himself. After long weeks filled with tension and misunderstandings, finally most things had been cleared out. The dread he had felt over Christine's blatant rejection when they were in the greenhouse had put him out of his senses. Yes, he had understood her harsh words - up to a point. Another part of him had been burning with fury, waiting patiently for her to come to him. And that had taken a great deal of self control from Erik, who longed to go after Christine everytime he heard her closing the door of her room or walking upstairs. Everytime he heard her roaming around the house, a sharp pain would invade him and several times he had caught himslef thinking if he should not go after her - of course his pride had kept him from doing it, especially because Erik didn't trust himself to approach her like that. Her constant presence was unsettling. The two previous days had been absolute torture to him. Although her reaction had been predicted to a certain extent, Erik had never truthfully expected her to lash out on him like that. At the time, it only felt like an admission of all his faults, of how he had hidden his true identity from Christine for months. A punishment for having been so gullible and thinking that she would understand and perhaps, overlook certain details concerning his personal history. Of course, he had had every intention to tell her everything, but Erik didn't expect to do so like this, under such tight circumstances. However, now she knew. Most part of it, anyway.

Erik had felt a wave of both relief and anger washing over him as she had knocked on the door, pleading chocolate eyes staring back at him as petite ballerina got nearer. It had been difficult to keep his impassive expression, to say the least. But what surprised him most was not that Christine had been angry at him. It was the reason why she'd been angry - not because Erik was a wanted man, but because he hadn't told her he had a life ouside the operahouse. Although Erik could understand this from a purely rational point of view, it didn't seem to him that important, since his life outside Ópera Populaire didn't hold that much meaning to him - Christine was not a part of it, which made it all the more insignificant from where he stood. But now, she was. Christine had been brought to this part of his life by Erik himself, and he certainly didn't intend to let her go. The point of no return, the one he longed for yet dreaded so much, had ironically been the fateful opening night. The night when Christine had trusted him blindly, like a child. Erik gulped. She was a child in many ways yet, but despite her innocence, Christine was slowly turning herself into a dashing and assertive woman. He remembered that night clearly, when she took the form of the seductress Aminta. She certainly hadn't seemed a child then. It had been an act, a charade of sorts - however, it had enlightened Erik as to her true potential, something beyond his wildest dreams. Although a part of him felt smug and possessive for being the one unlashing this facet of hers, he also felt a tinge of guilt. He didn't want to hurt her in any way and deep down didn't believe he could offer her a happy, carefree life such as the one she deserved, as much as he fantasized about it. Erik wasn't even sure this was what Christine wanted either. As much as she had implied about what she wanted their relationship to become, he still had his doubts as to whether or not Christine really knew what it would entail. But he also knew perfectly Christine was his weakest point. If she pushed him enough, he would do it. His defenses could do so much. And Christine was definitely working on that, as far as the masked man could tell.

All these thoughts were rushing through his mind as they stood embraced, none of them wanting to let go of the other. Christine's words had been his undoing, for sure. Passion for his muse filled him with such tenderness that could only be awakened by her. His right hand kept fondling her chocolate brown tresses , while the left one kept holding her on the waist, keeping her secure and close to him, caressing her side gently. She was so small and fragile, he wondered. So beautiful and strong simultaneously. Slowly, his hand descended along her visage, bringing up her chin. The masked man wanted to look at her, to drink in the image of her, the woman who was embracing him, his Christine. His breath hitched, as the proximity with her intoxicated him, made him mad with want and possessiveness. While they usually felt pretty confortable around one another, moments like these were rare betweem them, particularly due to Erik's evasiveness and fear of losing his self-control. But he treasured them dearly and despite not being one for displays of affection, Erik craved for these gestures and would take whatever was offered to him. Doey eyes stared at him, still red and glossy from the previous shedding of tears. She was blushing slighty, looking all the more lovely. Her small arms were still encircled around his torso. Slowly, Erik took in all of this information, mesmerized as always by the power this small girl had over him. The intense feeling of longing terrified him. The only thing he had wished for for so long, was so close yet so far. He could feel his guard was dangerously down now, and knew that Christine felt it too.

\- Christine's POV -

A soft hand had traced the outline of her face, making her skin prickling with goosebumps. As much as Christine had tried to hide away against Erik's chest, it wouldn't do, as confortable as it was. Nor for now, anyway. When she looked up, a pool of green was fixing her intently. Erik's stormy green eyes were always impressive, but all the more when he looked at her like that. Like she was the only thing worth looking at. Still, she could still trace conflict in his eyes.

"Christine." The raspy voice resounded through his chest, making her shiver and gasp for air. Erik's hand expertly went to the back of her neck and his arm smashed her against his chest and she felt his lips touching her forehead. Christine let out a breath she didn't know she was holding. Feeling exhilarated at the unexpected amorous contact and slightly disappointed that he wouldn't push things a little forward, she lingered on his touch, closing her eyes, expectant. His breath was erratic and his hold on her was strong, Christine could tell. Like always, Erik was holding himself back. From her. As the petite brunette opened her eyes, the glare she directed at him made it painfully obvious that Christine was not satisfied with the little diversionary maneuvre he was giving her. Like the observant man he was, Erik noticed this. Quite surprinsingly, instead of ignoring her reaction, he simply pulled her closer and almost growled in a serious and soundingly dangerous manner. "Don't push it, Mademoiselle." Thought his tone might be interpreted as a teasing one, the glare he gave her was his way of telling her - Christine supposed as much - that he wouldn't have it. Not today anyway. She gave an audible sigh, accepting defeat this time. But despite all that had happened today, Christine couldn't help herself.

"Because we still have to discuss what all of this means…?" she asked, tentatively. Erik tensed a little and hissed. So he remembered it then. "Yes." Good. At least he wasn't being evasive, which was definitely an improvement as far as she could tell. This weird tension between them was not helping with the state of affairs. Although things had been cleared out, obviously not everything was on the table yet. She partly understood his reserve now - he had quite a troublesome past. Not that Christine didn't know it already, but now more pieces were being added to the puzzle. She had to overcome Erik's resistance. Over the last few months, Christine had come to realize that her feelings for him were taking hold of her, and becoming deeper than anything she might have envisioned. At first, Erik had been her secret friend. As Christine had found more about him, she had pitied him deeply. But she also saw Erik beyond the mask - not only the real mask, but the figurative one as well, the one Erik exhibited most of the time. He emanated an untouchable and unreachable aura, but in reality he was lacking a sense of belonging. Knowing Erik had been - and still was - an exhilarating experience. The man himself was a mystery in many ways, but what an exceptional man he was! And Christine admired him exceedingly for everything - his struggle for survival, the way he had become a self-made man, how he had overcome multiple obstacles and fought incessantly against the cruelty life has bestowed upon him. All Erik had known throughout his existence was violence, through inummerable ways. And despite all of that, his passion for living remained. Hope for a better future, even if faintly, existed. Nothing could make her happier than to bring him happiness, she realised. This position had arisen not only out of gratitude, but also out of love. Love for a man whose temper, even if fiery at times, could well match her own. They could both be irreasonable, overprotective, stubborn mules, and a little too much keen to drama sometimes. But they were drawn to each other nonetheless, and that made Christine giddy. Everything felt right when they were side by side. "I will hold you to that, Monsieur Destler."

"Yes." Erik huffed a little, but a little smirk could be perceived in his handome features. "I figured out you would." But he didn't let go of her nor did he relax his grip on Christine. "You still are the person who knows me best, Christine." His impressive green eyes were intently fixed on hers. "And the only who can put up with my bad temper, it would seem." He chuckled as he said this, earning a giggle from her. Months ago, the atmosphere would have been too tense to even talk. Right now, Erik was trying to ease things between them. Trying to make her feel better, despite her stupid mistakes and childish attitude. To calm her and to reassure her.

"When would this… discussion take place?"

Erik's expression turned much serious all of a sudden and he sighed, his head slowly dropping towards hers. Slowly, his forehad touched the crown of her head, his eyes never leaving hers. The answer came, unwavering. "Whenever you choose to, of course."

Christine didn't back down. "Frankly Erik, I am done with riddles. I want the air cleared between us as soon as possible." It was her turn to sigh. "I don't want to have to count the days until things are confortable enough between us so that I can corner you and begin an awkward conversation once more." His brows elevated slightly. Had it ever occurred to him that initiating these moments was not something she particularly enjoyed doing? "I don't like fighting you." He seemed dumbfounded for a while. But thankfully, Erik chose not to ignore her. "This is a quite sensitive subject, Christine. As you are aware of." She nodded "Yes." His voice, as velvety as it always was, had a serious and worried tone to it. "We've just been through a fight. Are you sure you want to go through this now?" Erik's uncertainty didn't move Christine. Her mindset was stronger than ever. "I am quite certain."

He disentangled himself from her and the mood of the room changed abruptly. Of course, she couldn't possibly think that they would deal with this while locked in a loving embrace, could she? Slightly disappointed, Christine let her arms drop, suddenly unsure of what she was doing. Surely Erik thought she was pushing things way too far and would once more be hurt by her childish attitude. "Please, sit down. As you put it, it doesn't make sense to prolong this any further." The masked man's voice was smooth, but almost business-like, cold even. She sat down on a chair right in front of him. She was ready. Goodness, she had spent weeks thinking about what this conversation would consist of. Sure, the first time round hadn't gone too smoothly. But Christine could make things right, for once and for all. She was determined it should be so. His position, as always in moments like these, was feline-like. Back upright, jaw tense - Erik put his hand on the arms of the chair, not bothering to make this look like a casual conversation. "As I have told you of my life in Persia and other episodes of my life, you know very well where my… insecurities with our relationship lie."

Unnavering, Christine insisted. She wouldn't have him talking to her in riddles. "You will have to tell me yourself." He gulped, breathing more heavily. "Isn't it obvious, Christine? I could never give you the life you deserve." Erik couldn't help but look disappointed and gave an audible sigh of exasperation. "What about the life I want?" She answered truthfully, in such a spontaneous manner that Erik couldn't help but look at her, astonished. For a while words faltered him. Erik looked genuinely at a loss. Once more, a long pregnant pause ensued. "Being with me… would only lead to a life of secrecy, of deceit - you would eventually grow to despise me, Christine. And I couldn't bear that." His words came with difficulty, hoarse with emotion. "You said it yourself that there are thing you wish to do and see - to seek out and explore the world. I could only give you very limited options, for I am a wanted man. And one with a mask." Finally, they were getting to it. It mildly surprised Christine that Erik had addressed the issue with such a direct approach. She knew how hard it was for him to speak about this. The mask was proof, or so Erik thought, of his greatest handicap - the inability of ever leading an ordinary life. "So that's where the problem lies. Your mask, your face." A sorrowful look spread accross his features. "Clearly. "

"Let me see it." Her voice sounded as calm as ever. Evidently caught off guard, Erik's eyes pierced through her, a mix of disbelief that she was actually saying it out loud and anger at being exposed like this. Fear was reflected on his impressive green eyes. A big panther caught off guard, a vulnerable and confused look she had seldom seen in him - and how it pained her to see Erik like this! His breathing was growing heavier, and the strong arms were shaking slightly as the meaning of the request dawned upon him. Christine knew perfectly there was hardly anything she could have asked him that would be harder or more painful than this. "Why?" He asked in an almost inaudible whisper.

"Why?" Christine echoed his words, for once knowing exactly what to say. "Because you seem utterly convinced that I won't be able to deal with the consequences of seeing it. And I want to. I want to see your face." Her tone was pleading, but stern. Christine drew a long breath. "And show you how far from the truth you are." Diverting his eyes from her, he gave out a low painful moan while his head pended forwards. For a moment it seemed as if all strenght had been drawned from him. Erik looked defeated and for a second, Christine wondered if it wouldn't be better just to leave it be - was she being unintentionally cruel towards him? But slowly Erik rose. His eyes had a acquired a new, almost cruel-looking glint to them. But his strained voice betrayed him, raw with emotion. "By all means, Christine… please prove me wrong."

Now he was the pleading one, and Christine would not deny him. Without hesitation, the pretty girl got up from the chair she was sitting on, and slowly walked towards him, showing more confidence than she really felt. Truthfully, Christine had seen his unmasked face… once. And while she didn't remember it as being gruesome or dire, it was Erik's reaction that had frightened her the most. So she needed to remain calm and trust her ability of seeing beyong physical deformities. This was Erik. Her friend, the man she was in love with. Certainly those feelings would come forward at such an hour…? Pushing all doubts aside, Christine unceremoniously sat on his right leg, directly facing the porcelain mask, the barrier than had for so long been his shield against the outer world. Erik tensed at this unexpected contact, but didn't say a word. Instead, his eyes were following her every move, every facial expression that might give her away. Curiously, Christine didn't seem to mind this thorough scrutiny of her actions. It seemed to give her more strenght to carry on. Her small hands carefully touched the cold, unfeeling mask. Putting her fingertips underneath it, Christine slowly pulled it out and landed it on a side table. Erik's breath hitched once more, the man himself uncapable of showing coolness. Almost unaware of what she was doing, one of her hands lovingly stroked his undeformed cheek and her eyes met his. Her fingers started travelling alongside his marred complexion, carressing every crease and bump they could find along the way. Erik shivered underneath her ministrations, breathing more erraticaly as she touched the most sensitive spots. The skin was disfigured in an extension than came all the way from the nose to the area behind his ear. Red and blemished, some parts of it seemed blistered, resembling a burn. Around these smooth and delicate swellings, the skin was thickened and its surface rugged. Overall, the look of it was a mismatched one. It didn't frighten or disgust her. It wasn't monstruous nor bloodcurdling. Not the face of a devil, but the face of a man. The face that had brought so much disgrace upon him, had imposed its owner such a violent and cruel fate. Desfigured as it was, it was nothing more than an area consisting of reddening lumps of skin, Christine concluded. Why had Erik had to suffer so much at the hands of men because of it? The thought itself was revolting and she felt her throat tingling.

Noticing she had lost herself in her own thoughts, she almost suprisingly saw that he still observed her most keenly, surprise evident in his chiseled features. Those immense green eyes stared at her, a strange coombination of fear and hope, ever so intense. Oh, Christine did pity him. In a spontaneous gesture, she nuzzled his marred cheek, arms circling Erik's neck in an affectionate gesture. Softly, she started planting small kisses upon his wrecked visage, leaving no patch of skin untouched. "Christine…" He groaned like a wounded beast, his raspy voice hot in her ears, salty tears descending his face and wetting her lips. Here he was, at his most vulnerable state, breaking down under her embrace. This was what years of abuse and marginalization had made of Erik, the cleverest and strongest person she had ever met, Christine thought. This man was not used to displays of affection and her actions were overwhelming him. Apparently not able to contain himself, his shivering hands encircled her waist and Erik pulled Christine closer, making her effectively sit on his lap. His moans were lower now, but no less painful to hear. Eriks head dropped down, his forehead resting on her shoulder. Christine's fingers moved along the back of his neck, fondling his hair. She kept nuzzling him. "It doesn't scare me." Christine repeated those words again and again and again, until she was whispering them, like a desperate prayer. Erik drew her closer and his eyes lifted, piercing hers. His hands were like iron gripping her. "Tell me this is not a dream, Christine..." The resonant voice sounded broken, rough, supplicant. She could feel Erik's breath on her cheek. Christine carressed his neck, bringing her hands to Erik's chin - forcing him to lift up his head. For a moment, she let herself get lost in his eyes, those pleading green orbs the young woman loved so dearly. She would not ler him back down on her, not this time. Softly, she brought her lips to his, making a promise to Erik, both solemn and silent. Contrary to her deepest fears, Erik did not push Christine away.


	21. Instants

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello there! I've been able to upload this chapter faster than I anticipated, thankfully. I don't know exactly when I'll be able to post again (exam term is coming at me), but I promise to do so as soon as I can. Hope you like this one!

\- Christine's POV -

It had been quite a chaste and sweet kiss at first, only to become more passionate as moments passed by. Christine was losing herself in Erik's intoxicating wonderful smell and warmth, and would encircle her hands around his neck, bringing him impossibly closer. Erik, on his part, did the exact same thing - except his hands were roaming up and down Christine's waist, pulling and caressing as if he couldn't get her close enough. With a deep blush that Christine feared mirrored her own as they tore apart, Erik spoke softly. "No fear?" he repeated in disbelief, staring at her while their foreheads touched. They were both panting a little, after kissing for a considerable amount of time. Both were certainly disheveled, but thankfully no servant had knocked. His baritone voice was trembling, his overall posture more possessive and less fearful. There was an unmissable tone of innocence in his question, almost child-like. Accordingly, his eyes were wide with apparent surprise, glistening in all of their green glory.

"None." Christine dutifully answered, always matching the intensity of Erik's gaze.

"Is it… pity?" While Christine half hoped to him to be suspicious of her, she had readied herself for his constant fear of misinterpreting her actions. She didn't quite believe he could misread anything anymore, unless he did so on purpose to assure himself that he wasn't scaring her off.

"I do pity you, but don't suppose that I would kiss you out of it." It was an earnest and defiant reply. He still stared at her, bewildered with her answer, while she resumed to nuzzle his cheek lovingly, making the unmasked man shiver slightly. Maybe once Erik grew accustomed to these gestures he wouldn't do so anymore.

"It is real, then." He whispered more to himself than to her, a low-key reverent tune resounding in the air. Christine nodded, exhilarated with the fact that Erik accepted this at last. Slowly but with growing confidence, he proceeded to bring his lips closer to hers for another kiss.

/ /

Christine smiled embarrassingly as she remembered the last few days. Things, she believed, could not go much better than this. Afraid as she had been of making things even more uncomfortable between them, it seemed her worries were unfounded. Ever since the pretty brunette had removed the phantom's mask, it seemed their relationship had improved in more ways than one. Finally, Erik trusted her enough not to keep her at an arm's length. They spent much of their time together, as opposed to when they had first come to the manor. Now that his secrets were out, Erik didn't hesitate to tell Christine even more fantastic tales of his time in Persia and his dealings as an architect in Paris. Very seldom did he mention Ópera Populaire, eventhough she could tell he missed the old building as much as she did. Gratefully, almost daily missives from Nadir Khan ensured than both Antoinette and Marguerite Giry were safe, which calmed Christine greatly. Nette and Meg were the closest thing she had to family now, and she would always blame herself if anything were to happen them. Erik seemed as worried about them as she, which was a great comfort.

As security matters stood, Erik had also hinted at the fact that eventually she would need to get in touch with the parisian chief of police, if anything to disperse rumors about her being captive and testify against Raoul. That was no easy task to be achieved and Christine dreaded it terribly - specially when she thought about the slight possibility of having to do so in front of the vimconte himself. Together they had started to draw a plan, which so far it seemed solid enough. However, they both knew how far the De Chagny's influence could reach - in the end, it was a risk they had to take. After all, Erik did have some influence in higher spheres and now was the right time to make use of it.

The rest of the days came quite uneventfully. Christine had resumed her singing lessons, and there was something about having a routine again that cheered her up. For a few moments every day, she didn't have to think about the operahouse or how much she missed seeing her friends, colleagues and well, having a life outside the manor. However, being an only child had come with the full advantages of being able to spend quite a long time on her own without feeling too bored or lonely. Reading, drawing, walking around the house or the gardens were her biggest pastimes now. The truth was that Erik was quite a busy man, and although Christine knew perfectly how much effort he put in assuring that her every need was catered to, she also understood that Erik was not accustomed to entertain people very much, and that he also had obligations to attend to.

They were closer now, and grew more comfortable in each other's presence as time went by. It seemed almost unreal - like the quiet evenings she would spend with him in the catacombs, but much better. Every night before Christine went to bed - Erik would always be working in his atelier at such hours - he would kiss her goodnight. A proper kiss, which made her feel like butterflies were flying around in her stomach, and made ages go by before Christine could bring herself to finally fall asleep. This ritual had accidentally began when Christine, too nervous to know exactly what to do now the tables had turned, quickly entered Erik's office blushing furiously and bluntly asked him to kiss her, as she was going to bed. Poor Erik's face would have almost been comical if it wasn't for the intensity of shock revealed in his expression, as it had happened some times before. For someone who could be so perceptive, Christine wondered, he could definitely be a little callow sometimes. But then, three kisses in a single day for a man who had been deprived of all affection throughout life were probably too much for him to process at once. Not that Erik complained, anyway. Shocked and surprised he might be, but the man sure caught up with things fast enough, Christine thought giddily. Never again had she to ask him for a kiss; quite the contrary, he seemed too eager to share such moments with her, like a thirsty man who'd finally stumbled upon an oasis - he would take all affection that would be offered to him freely, making no demands of his own. But as far as intimacies went, that was it. Never an improper glance, never an incidental touch. Erik was too much of a gentleman to take such liberties, and Christine respected him the most for it. She could sense that he was trying very hard not to scare her away. Not that he had to worry, as far as she was concerned.

It was a sunny April day. For the first time in weeks, the sky was clear and not one single cloud could be perceived in the horizon. When Christine had suggested that they could wander around the impressive gardens, enjoying the first of warm days ahead, Erik had acquiesced. After a long walk, they were lying down next to the small river sitting against a tree trunk, her head poised on Erik's chest. The sun was shining brightly while they found themselves protected by the shadow the tree's foliage offered, and birds were chirping in the nearby trees.

"You are uncharacteristically quiet today." Erik's low teasing voice rumbled across his chest wall. She moved out of his embrace quickly and made an exaggerated offended expression, putting her hand over her breast for a slightly more dramatic effect.

"Whatever do you mean by that? You are the one who is always moping around, all moody and sulky."

"Come here, you little minx." She gave out a surprised cry. Fast as a panther, Erik strongly pulled her again against him, locking his arms around her waist, effectively keeping Christine prisoner of his embrace. She grumbled something unintelligible, only to make him smash her with more strength and outright sniff her hair. Christine couldn't help but smile a little. He must be really happy to keep holding me like this. "Oi! Are you sniffing my hair, monsieur?" Her cries were muffled, since Erik was practically crushing her face to his chest while nuzzling the top of her head, chuckling lowly.

"Look at us, resembling a normal couple." She giggled breathlessly, her bouncy curls unruly as ever crowning her head.

"Most people underestimate the ordinary, you see." The masked man sighed, but his tone was calm - content, even. While Erik raised his head, she could see him smiling peacefully, as she'd very seldom seen him. His green eyes were glinting humorously. Christine chose not to comment on what Erik had said, but she understood far too well what he meant. For someone whose life had been most chaotic and unfairly cruel, Erik treasured all small events, all things that could bring him closer to normality and give him the chance to blend in, even if for a little while. As Christine had often heard from him, their relationship was not something he had expected, not in the earnest sense of the word. Erik believed himself to be a cast out, a marginal - even though he had risen notably in Paris aristocratic social circles, there was still a deep belief that he remained alone against the world and would forever be denied the chance of happiness surrounded by loved ones. Of course such beliefs had started to lose ground once Christine showed him that life needn't carry on like that. There was a calm confidence in him now, of a man who was more self-assured. She sighed; such posture was becoming on Erik and Christine was glad for this slight change on his demeanor.

"Tell me something." Erik hummed inquisitively in response. "Tell me a story"

"Any story in particular, mademoiselle?"

Slowly, she rested her head on his shoulder again. "One that I have longed to know for quite a long time now - of how the Phantom of the Opera came to be the Angel of Music."

Erik seemed slightly surprised by the request, but soon resumed the relaxed state, staring lazily at the sky. Christine drank in every single expression he gave away. It felt like a privilege, seeing him so laid back, so comfortable around her.

"Very well then." He adjusted his position, so that they would be more comfortably seated without letting go of Christine.

"After running from Constantinople, I fled back to Paris. It was the only place I dared call home - Ópera Populaire. I had been a curious boy many years before and knew the the building better than the back of my hand - all the secret passages that allowed me to go back and forth as I pleased, the underground floors I had lived for so long in, everything was exactly as I had left it. Well, not quite." Erik gave out a little smirk. "About the same time, a scrawny little girl of six had just been admitted to the dormitories, a protégé of Antoinette. She was said to be the daughter of the late Swedish violinist Gustave Daaé. Though I'd never had the pleasure of hearing Daaé playing myself, he was quite famous in the musical circles." He stared directly at her and squeezed her hand lovingly. "There was nothing striking about the girl - an orphan like so many others who'd come to the operahouse. She was a plain shy creature, a quiet and small thing. I cannot say that I took an interest in her right away." Christine was thoroughly entertained by the way he conducted his narrative, almost as if he was telling a story on other people other than themselves. She found somewhat amusing and at the same time endearing the words he chose to describe her childlike self, knowing that he was being truthful in the way he had perceived her back then.

"A few days after her arrival, I heard a muffled crying sound coming from the northwest wing corridors, just where the old chapel was. There was the Daaé girl, kneeling on the cold hard stone ground. She was praying and a picture of a man was on her lap. She'd even lit a candle. The girl spoke of her father, heaven and… an angel of Music, who was yet to come. With childish pride she was trying her best not to cry out loud, but hopelessly so. Her father had made a promise, she kept on repeating it." This part of Erik's discourse brought tears to Christine's eyes. The remembrance of solitude and anguish after her father's death was still vivid, and a painful one. "I couldn't bring myself to leave her, so I stayed for a long time observing her, listening to her cries and sobs. Probably it was the first time I had felt compassion for another human being. I was young still, but many misfortunes had already befallen me - at the time, the world was a cruel fantasy and I must exclude myself from it at all costs." Erik brought one hand to Christine's hair, fondling it. "Everyday she came back to the chapel after rehearsals. Everyday she would cry again and again, begging her celestial father to send the Angel of Music to her. I stood and listened. On one of those days - even today I can't quite tell, she must have heard rustling. You always seemed to have this uncanny ability to sense me." He mused, alluding to the scene they had both shared on the operahouse rooftop. "Immediately, the girl turned her head towards the wall where the sound had come from - I was standing behind it, ready to take my leave. I didn't want to frighten her."

Christine looked at him. These memories were precious to both of them, but could easily notice how much Erik cherished them by the glint of his eye. It warmed her heart. "Please, go on."

Erik nodded. " She called by the Angel once and once again, until words from her mouth could barely be heard. She was crying in earnest, her face wet with tears. Then the girl broke and whispered, a desperate cry. 'Please don't leave me. I am so alone, Angel.' Something stirred in me as the child said those words. I had known loneliness in its most sour ways, but she didn't have to. I stood there, transfixed. She was…" Here he paused and struggled to complete the sentence, gulping. " …the first person who had ever wanted me to stay, who had ever needed me." Christine noticed his face quivering with emotion. Erik's voice was raspier. She held herself closer to him. "I hadn't been aware that such a feeling could exist." The masked man sighed. " That night, the girl was crying herself to sleep, as she did most nights. I didn't want her to see me. Since she slept on one of the far corners of the room by a window, through the upper ground I could sing so she would be the only one to listen. So I sang, wondering if a true angel would actually do that. As you might expect, the girl was delighted and bound me to the promise her father had made so many weeks before. I kept singing her to sleep almost every night." Christine smiled, remembering perfectly the scene described by Erik. It had been one of the best moments of her life, the moment when the angel had revealed himself to her. Too wonderful to be true, she sometimes had wondered.

" Some time afterwards, her better disposition had allowed her to make some new friends. Still, every single day the girl would come to the chapel and tell me all about her day. I patiently listened to her tales, assuming my rightful part as an Angel." Erik stopped for a little while, as if he was struggling with the next words. " Then, a few months afterwards, I found her singing some sort of a Swedish folk song to her father's picture - nothing I knew, truly. I was… astonished by her voice and decided that I would act like a proper music angel would - I would teach her how to sing and she would become the prima donna someday." He gulped, holding his gaze on Christine. "Then… everyone would love her and she would be surrounded by friends and countless admirers - she wouldn't have to be alone anymore." Tears prickled her eyes now, as she leaned over closer to Erik. It was indeed a miracle that they'd gotten this far, wasn't it?

"Eventhough I had recommenced my architectural projects at the time, I became quite determined to keep living in Ópera Populaire - it had noticed how terrible the management of the institution was, so I took matters into my own hands, becoming the Opera Ghost, I title I rather liked at the time." He smirked, but soon his expression turned serious once more. "I couldn't bring myself to leave you or the operahouse, eventhough I had built this house, at the counsel of Nadir. More than your voice or appearance, I think it was your fiery personality that drove me to you the most. Still, you were the kindest, unselfish person I'd ever had the chance to meet. Years went by and the girl I knew turned into a stunning and determined woman. I knew the games of make believe - the illusion behind the Angel of Music - would have to come to an end soon. The fact that the boy appeared only made me realise that perhaps it was time." Christine almost giggled at how jealous he still sounded while speaking contemptuously of Raoul. But out of respect, she kept her most serious face. "Of course, I had my reserves - for starters, I had no idea as to how my pupil would react. To add to this, I realized the dream of sharing a life with someone was growing as much as I tried to suppress it and was taking a more outlined shape than ever before. I saw you - and by God, you were heavenly. That's the all of the story, I guess." Breath caught up in her throat with his words. Erik meant every single word, she could tell - he wasn't one to take such things lightly. She sincerely whispered the words "Thank you", hoping her voice wouldn't betray the emotion she felt, and gave a loving peck on his unmarred cheek. They stood in silence for some time, embraced still. Christine hid her face on the crook of Erik's neck while he kept one arm around her waist and the other fondling her hair. Soon it would grow chilly and the sun would start coming down. However, neither of them wanted to move from where they were. It was too comfortable, it felt too right to disturb the completion of such a moment.

"Well, is that how you explain the doll and the dress?" Christine was teasing him, a playful tone evident in her voice. Surprisingly, Erik seemed unabashed by her words.

"In part, yes. I apologise, but I will say this much for my defense - I was at the height of passional obsession. I saw you face everywhere I went. Apparently it didn't scare you that much." He looked at her, giving her a shy smile which she reciprocated.

"How did you find out what my measurements were, anyway?" She asked, hoping he wouldn't notice her cheeks burning. He didn't.

"The costume department always keeps such things noted down." Oh. She hadn't exactly thought of that possibility. How embarrassing! She coughed discreetly. "How ever did you I suppose I knew them?" Erik was clearly catching up with her track of thought, considering the quizzical look he gave her. Christine felt her blushing intensifying.

"I-I don't know. Just thought it was curious, that's all." Liar, her mind accused her. She was evading the subject miserably and Erik knew it. Thankfully he let it drop, not without exhibiting a playful smirk. "It also explains how the dresses in my room fitted me." She said, in an attempt to smoothly change the theme of the conversation.

"Yes. Once I had decided to bring you here, I knew that we might not get the chance to take your belongings as well. So I ordered them. And rearranged the room, too."

" So it really wasn't a coincidence that I loved it so much!" She was surprised that Erik would have done all of it for her, but Christine knew the surprise element was unfounded. He had shown time and time again that her comfort was his biggest concern. Erik smiled at her, pulling Christine slightly in a teasing way.

"Hopefully not."

They stood silent for another couple of minutes, breathing evenly.

"I wanted to court you properly, you see." Erik was looking up lazily at the colour-changing sky.

"Oh?" Whatever she expected him to say, this had not been it. She sit up a little, so to face him directly. "So that is what we're doing, is it?" Christine couldn't resist teasing him, it was too much fun for her. His eyes quickly focused on her in wonder.

"I'm perfectly serious, Christine." Her smirk dropped a little. "I wanted to take you out to walk around the city, buy you flowers, gifts and all other things that people do when…" Erik paused, seemingly searching for the right words. "Well, when they engage in a relationship." He sounded as if things were still not completely real to him, as if it was fantasy and not real life.

"I don't think that is of consequence on proper courting." Christine gave him a bright smile, intertwining her fingers with his. "We already know each other better than many people do when they're in this phase. I guess I'll bind you to all the chocolate boxes I'm entitled to later." That earned a chuckle from Erik, who pulled her arm gently, bringing her again close to him.

As Christine resumed her earlier position, she spoke softly "It was a wonderful story, monsieur". The response she got was a kiss on the crown of her head, while Erik hummed quietly.


	22. Bend and Break

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Heeeey! I must apologise for the huge delay in this chapter. I promise I tried all that I could to speed it up, but as I found inspiration hard to get, about two months ago the main outline I had already written was irremediably lost, so I had to write it down AGAIN.
> 
> Probably it is not the best chapter as of yet (I can't say that I am fully satisfied with how it turned out), but I hope you enjoy it either way. Criticism is welcome - please review!

\- Christine's POV -

The inspector had finally come. After an entire morning that consisted of walking around the room, Christine had been submitted to the police inquiry. Working alongside with Erik and Daroga, they had conjured up a believable story to tell inspector Dubois. Being a former chief of police himself, Nadir Khan had an idea of the what the most important questions would consist of and how the answers should be given – not too many details (as not to sound too artificial or vague), but enough for credibility. This was precious information, for keeping the Phantom of the Opera's identity as mysterious as possible was their key priority (undoubtedly). Erik Destler, the royal architect, had to remain as unattached/unconnected to the Ópera Populaire as he had always been. On their side was the fact that most policemen involved in the operahouse scandal had testified against Raoul De Chagny – the promise of better salaries and innumerous advantages not being enough to keep them shut, not when all evidence pointed out to the fact that it had been the vimconte himself to shut the building down, forbidding all entrances or leaves, bringing people in the stageroom to despair among the flames, and a small number of them to die suffocated with smoke. It was indeed well-known in Paris how advantageous the connections between officers of the law and nobility could be. However, with such a prominent disaster, death of members of some of the richest Parisian families and disappearance of France's most beloved soprano, the authorities could not throw a blind eye to the case. However rich and influential the De Chagnys must be, so far the young Raoul was held as the principal suspect responsible for the tragedy, as were André and Firmin, now former directors of the Ópera Populaire.

All of this worked in Christine's favour, of course - which didn't keep her from feeling exceedingly nervous about being interrogated. Her biggest fear was that she would have to testify publicly against Raoul De Chagny. She wouldn't be able to face him; he scared and disgusted her in equal measure and Christine wouldn't walk into any room he was in, not if she could help it. She had recurrent nightmares, mainly consisting of the vimconte exposing Erik and taking her away, hurting her friends, hurting Erik, hurting her. She knew the De Chagnys could cast a long shadow, as their influence came a long way. Erik, of course, didn't know about these bad dreams – Christine wouldn't tell him. He had been sufficiently worried about her as of late, and Christine couldn't bring herself to distress him any further.

The enquiry had gone quite smoothly, and Christine felt as if it was an out of body experience. Dubois, a quite stout middle-aged man, had not made her feel uncomfortable. For about one hour, he made an endless series of questions regarding all possible details – starting with her relationship with Raoul De Chagny, as they had been 'childhood… friends', Christine had put it, as she heard Erik hissing behind her armchair. Had he menaced her? Yes, he had. On which occasions? What was the content of these threats? Christine had also given an exhaustive description of the man she had been on stage with – a rather thin and pale man, with small threatening black eyes and a foreign accent which the soprano hadn't been quite able to identify – perhaps Italian or Spanish? She couldn't be sure. And what had the man talked to her about? To her, absolutely nothing. But Raoul De Chagny had met them both down in the cellars and had discussed the conditions in which she should be delivered. Which had been those conditions? Money, a large sum of it. No, she'd never seen the man before in her life. Yes, it could have been him at the Masquerade Ball. How would she know? After all, the mask covered all his features. To this last statement, Dubois seemed to react with satisfaction, although Christine couldn't know why. So, it could have been the opera ghost. Who was he? Were the rumours true? Had the soprano received letters from the phantom himself? No, she had not. But how curious it was this presence had intensified so shortly after the arrival of De Chagny, Firmin and André? It was very curious indeed, didn't the mademoiselle agree? Perhaps not a mere coincidence after all.

How had she managed to escape? Was she familiar with the operahouse undergrounds? No, Christine had added with a ghost of a smile. She believed it had been 'sheer luck'. Christine had run randomly until she reached the outside of the building, just close enough to the stables. Erik Destler had found her on the crossing between Rue – and Rue –, alone and crying for help. Christine had refused any attempts to go to the police, positively alarmed as she was. Destler had believed that Christine was on the verge of passing out. Believing the lady was indeed in danger, the architect had brought her to his house. Curiously, he had attested to the truth of what the girl had said. Christine Daaé, leading soprano of the world-renowned Ópera Populaire was in fact his guest. But how could such a worldly man as the architect not have known her instantly? The truth was, monsieur Destler very seldom attended public events, if ever at all. However, his longtime friend, Nadir Khan, was a music connoisseur and quickly confirmed the girl's identity, having had the pleasure of watching some of Mademoiselle Daaé's striking performances. It was around that time that Erik Destler had sent a letter to Inspector Dubois, revealing the young singer's whereabouts. How very lucky she had been in finding a savior such as Erik Destler! To this remark, Christine responded with a broken smile. Yes, who knew what could have happened under different circumstances.

...

She had then left the room. What Dubois and Erik had talked about, she had little idea. But the unexpected waiting time unnerved her. Oh, Erik had connections too. Christine would have to be a fool not to know it. Erik Destler was a pretty sounding name amongst nobility folks – his elusive ways and grand designs, as well and considerable fortune made him a favourite. Being a knowledgeable man, his intelligence ensured him respect from higher social ranks. Such were the tales Monsieur Daroga often told her, on the occasions in which she asked him to tell her more about the way Erik conducted his affairs in the outside world, since the man himself would tell her very little.

Christine watched as the police carriage carried Dubois back to Paris. She had come downstairs to bid him goodbye, and the middle-aged man had been curtest and most respectful, ensuring her that her troubles would "soon be over", while bowing to her and offering a mysterious and unsettling smile. Swift as ever, she entered Erik's study. Her curiosity could not be held for much longer. Whatever the two men had discussed, it concerned her, she was certain of it.

"Well, what did you talk about while I was out of the room?"

Erik held a cup in hand, stirring it gently. "The inspector wanted to discuss a few particulars with me. On how I found you, why I brought you here… He might have even commented on how I was the only man in Paris who didn't know your face." His voice, always an indicator of his general humour, was low.

"Since you don't often engage in past times such as going to the opera, hm?" She asked, tactfully.

"Precisely. I wouldn't want to draw any attention to myself."

"Did he also ask you about the mask, then?" Erik looked straight through her, which in itself proved her hypothesis was correct. He already knew that an enquiry could entail indiscreet questions, questions that Erik wasn't to prone to answer – something that Christine understood perfectly.

"Yes." He hissed, avoiding her gaze.

"What did you tell him?"

"A working accident at the market in Mezderan. A fire." Christine came closer and held his hand. She sincerely hoped the inspector had believed Erik. True enough, there was no apparent reason to connect Destler, the architect, to the infamous Opera Ghost, whose identity and purpose remained a mystery. It was easier to conclude that the vimconte and the directors had, in a very opportune way, made use of the phantom's legend for their own obscure purposes. As for now, and to the common policeman eye, the Phantom of the Opera and Erik Destler were two distinct and completely separate identities, impossible to relate to one another. But he seemed worried nonetheless. A little more concerned than one would expect. Christine had often thought about the protectiveness Erik showed towards her. Somehow, it felt like he hadn't told her everything yet.

It was highly unlikely that Raoul De Chagny would remain under custody, Christine knew as much. And Erik knew it as well. It would be also probable that the vimconte would come back searching for Christine in Ópera Populaire, or that he would somehow torment Antoinette and Meg Giry to provide him information on Christine's location.

Some questions had prickled her mind before and were coming back in full force as of late– would she ever return to Paris? Would she ever be able to go back to the stage? More importantly, would she ever be able to consider herself completely safe from danger? 'Probably not' was the crushing answer to her doubts. Strangely enough the only way Christine could think she would be more protected would be if only Erik… she sighed. She couldn't possibly think about it that way, could she? Christine felt embarrassed at this thought. It wasn't as if it hadn't crossed her mind before (as it had), but this was for a different reason altogether. Raoul would be released, sooner or later. And Christine couldn't hide herself forever in Erik's mansion.

Ever since the inspector had left, he had been more aloof and pensive than usual. He had been tense during the enquiry, which wasn't too surprising. However, it was unlikely that the inspector had noticed, as Erik could be much more intimidating under such circumstances. Unless one knew him fairly well (which an extremely rare occurrence, Christine concluded), it would be nothing short of hard to guess what his real emotions were. These attitudes concerned Christine, who could not know as to why his demeanor was like so, especially towards herself.

"The inspector mentioned concerns about your personal safety." His voice, somewhat unexpected, echoed in the room.

"I had thought it might be that." Erik seemed surprised, but didn't say a word, silently urging her to keep going. "Soon Raoul will be released. The De Chagnys have many connections." Erik nodded.

"Indeed." He stirred his drink. "The inspector seemed preoccupied enough that he should ask whether you were going back to Paris soon. He also asked whether I could keep you under my protection." To her ears, this remark had sounded a little sarcastic. It dumbfounded her.

"Well, I don't think I could go back. Not this soon anyway… And with the opera house destroyed, and all of this situation." She narrowed her eyes. "Unless… are you trying to tell me something? It's not coming across obvious." Was she not welcome at his place? What game was he playing at?

"People will talk, Christine. Your reputation would be at risk." Oh? Being prima donna at an opera house had always been a profession of arguable status – Christine had had her life commented on several times on the Parisian newspapers and was sure her reputation had seen better days as of late.

"It wouldn't be the first time, I'm sure."

"There is a way I can protect you more efficiently." They both knew what he was referring to. Finally, she had confirmation that Erik's line of thought wasn't too far from her own. He lowered his head, but still staring at her in the eye, as always. "De Chagny would have a harder time getting close to you. The inspector hinted as much, as Daroga and Antoinette have before him. Christine winced. Could it be that Mounsieur Khan and Madame Giry had really done such a thing? She innocently blushed at the thought. "But I don't wish to go forward with it." Christine instantly froze in place. His tone was decisive, as if there was no margin for questioning.

"And why ever not?" The girl asked, softly. Perhaps a bit too indignantly.

Erik huffed in response. "Because it shouldn't be the reason why we do so. It should be wiser to get you to conceal your identity and your whereabouts for a longer time. I would assist you, of course." Christine was incredulous. So, he had thinking the same she had. But unlike her, he wasn't acting on it. He was avoiding it like the plague. Somehow she had not predicted this, not after everything that had happened since De Chagny had come unwelcomingly into their lives. It hurt.

"You should be able to carry on with your life. Your normal life. "

"And how is going undercover 'normal life'?"

Sensing her resentment, he replied reassuringly. "It would only be temporary, Christine. A few months, perhaps." Erik held her hand, and kneaded it gently, in an attempt to comfort her. She quickly dropped it and responded sharply.

"I will not go."

"What?" Erik sounded genuinely at loss, trying to fix her eyes. Clearly, he had not been expecting this response from her. At this very moment, Christine found she couldn't care less.

"I will not go."

"You have to go. Don't be stubborn, child." Now Erik was acting like the tutor, the guardian. Patronizing her, to put it simply. That made it for Christine.

"Let me clarify this for you - you are not my father nor my husband. I owe you no obedience of any sort." Now that should have put a finger on the elephant in the room, Christine thought with pride. She was being unfair, for sure. Christine owed Erik a great deal, she was aware of that much. But one could only endure such stubbornness for a limited period of time.

"That can be arranged" Erik growled unexpectedly, brilliant green eyes fixing her intently. Christine's eyes widened with surprise at the answer; and so did Erik's at his own reaction, but the man still had the nerve to hold her gaze. She lifted her shoulders, in a manner of resignation.

"I take it that you don't want it, then."

"Want what?" He glared at her, his voice edgy. Clearly this conversation was nothing taking he route he intended.

"Marriage, Erik." There, she'd said it. A wave of nervousness assaulted her, bringing her stomach to a solid knot.

"Christine." He said, in a strangled voice as she remained silent, surprised at her own braveness. They had never discussed this openly, or had ever truly discussed the possibilities of a real future together. "I was planning on discussing this as soon as this situation had died out." Christine lifted her brow, waiting for Erik to continue. He didn't.

"And…?"

"And hopefully, you would say yes. Perhaps after an engagement of a year of two." His voice sounded stifled. She, on the other hand, felt utterly shocked at his words.

"Years? Why ever such a long time?" suddenly, she quieted herself. Christine knew why. And it infuriated her. "To give me the appropriate amount of time to cancel off the engagement before it was too late?" her voice was brusque, matching even his darkest tones. By the looks of it, Erik had not been prepared to face Christine, The Fury. She could have sworn he had shivered at her words. But every time he gave a step backwards, she felt blatantly rejected, so presently it was of little consequence whether he found her words harsh or not.

"You are much too young." Erik declared, as he had a thousand times before.

"Oh, that explains it. " Christine responded by rolling her eyes. He glared at her, clearly annoyed at the ironic tone.

"I might be an architect as far as the outside world is concerned. But don't forget that I have lived under an opera house for more than a decade and had wandered alone many years before that. I am not a gentleman, Christine." he stated matter-of-factly. Christine glared back. How many times had they been through this? More than she could care to count, probably. "I don't want to rush what we have."

"You don't have to rush anything if you don't want it" as she finished saying it, she could hear Erik hissing loudly. A long pause followed Christine's acid response. She was positively fuming, tears prickling the back of her eyes while she tried to avoid his gaze desperately. Christine was afraid. Afraid that they were both missing out on their chance, that they were playing around with fire - that Raoul would come back and ruin everything she held dear.

"You are mistaken. There is nothing I could possibly want more." Erik declared in a dangerous manner on her ear, having gotten up and closer. How he managed to do this so swiftly was beyond Christine's comprehension. But she was happy he seemed to understand her rough humour. "You have no idea of how much I want this." He whispered hoarsely, his breath tickling her neck. Erik rested his forehead on the crown of her head and pulled her. "I don't think I could let you go just yet."

As a small smile was brought to her lips, Christine thought it best to use a more genteel tone. She lifted her head to look at the masked man. "We don't have to rush it. But… years? Please, be reasonable." Of course he wouldn't be. She proceeded to nuzzling his neck, smiling mischievously as Erik embraced her closer.

"I don't want you to regret it." The exact same words kept coming back to haunt her, over and over again. His excessive zeal could have warned her as to Erik's intentions, but Christine knew better. He wanted this as much as she did. Probably even more - with more intensity, perhaps a little too desperately. But it didn't scare her. No, it didn't scare her at all.

"I would not. Does that mean you… would accept?" She purred in her sweetest tone.

His eyes shot open. The masked man seemed confused. Once more, his visible brow was furrowed in a quizzical manner as if things had escaped his grasp.

"…Accept?" He repeated, grasping her waist avidly.

"To marry me."

(to be continued)


End file.
